On a train from London to Manchester, an American was telling off the
Englishman sitting across from him in the compartment.
"You English are too stuffy. You set yourselves apart too much. Look at
me... I have Italian
blood, French blood, a little Australian blood, and some Swedish blood.
do you say to that?"
The Englishman replied, with a smile, "Very sporting of your Mother."
During World War II, a British pilot was
shot down while on a bombing mission over Germany. He sustained terrible
injuries when he crash-landed, but he was pulled unconscious from his
plane and taken to a German military hospital to recover.
When he regained consciousness a few days later, a kindly German doctor
was at his bedside. "Major Howe," said the doctor, "the injuries that you
received when your plane crashed are most severe. Both of your legs and
both of your arms have extensive damage. In fact, your right leg has been
crushed so badly, we have to amputate it immediately. I realize how
terrible this must make you feel. I am a doctor first, and a German
second. If I can do anything to comfort you, please don't hesitate to
"Well, Doctor," replied Major Howe, "there is something that you can do
for me. Can you give my amputated leg to the Luftwaffe and ask them to
drop it over England during their next bombing mission. I sure would feel
better if my leg wound up in good old England."
"I see no problem with that," said the doctor. "Consider it done."
So after the operation, the doctor gave the amputated leg to a German
officer with instructions to drop it over England.
Unfortunately, two days later the doctor had to give Major Howe some more
bad news. "Major Howe," said the doctor, "I'm afraid that gangrene has set
in on your left leg, and it too must be amputated. Any requests?"
"Yes," he replied. "Could you drop that leg over England also?"
"Ya," said the doctor, and after the operation he gave the Brit's leg to
the same German officer and asked him to dispose of it as before.
One week later, the doctor had still more bad news for the Major.
"Major Howe," said the doctor, "we have done everything in our power to
save your two arms, but I'm afraid that gangrene has set in on both of
them and we must amputate immediately. Can I assume that ..."
"Yes," interrupted the Major. "If you would be so kind, old boy, please
see that both of my arms are dropped over good old England."
The doctor promised to take care of his request and he again asked the
same German officer to drop the amputated limbs over England. This time,
however, the officer became perturbed and insisted on speaking with the
"So," said the German officer. "You are the pilot who wanted his right leg
dropped over England?"
"Yes," replied Major Howe. "That is jolly well correct."
"Hmmmm. And then you wanted your left leg dropped over England?"
"Yes," replied the Major. "That is correct as well."
"And now you say you want both of your arms dropped over England?"
"Correct again," replied the Major.
"Hmmmm, very interesting," mused the suspicious German officer. "Tell me
something, Major... you're not trying to escape, are you?"
John Howard the Australian Prime
Minister, flies to England for an audience with the Queen. Howard brings
up his grand plans for the future of Australia. "Your majesty", he begins,
"can we turn Australia into a Kingdom in order to increase its status in
The Queen shakes her head and replies, "One needs a King for a Kingdom and
you are most certainly not a King, Mr Howard."
Not to be dissuaded, he asks "Would it possible to be an Empire then?"
"No," retorts the Queen. "You need an Emperor for an Empire and you are
most certainly not an Emperor."
"Aw shucks, what about a Principality then?" tries Howard.
Predictably, the Queen replies, "You need a Prince for a Principality and
you are most certainly not a Prince."
Her Majesty takes a sip of tea and adds, "Mr. Howard, having met you and
several other Australians I think Australia is perfectly suited to being a
The British are wonders of craftsmanship,
always trying to invent new weapons for war. They have invented a weapon
which flings a pointed stick thru the internet. Of course they had to give
them a sexy name.
They are called........ Britain E-Spears
What follows is a superb example of
English humour. The piece proves two things:
1) You're not the only one who gets poor service from your ISP. (NTL is a
cable operator in Britain.)
2) The Brits get a better education than most Americans, enabling them to
write some fine letters of complaint.
Dear Cretins, I have been an NTL customer since 9th July 2001, when I
signed up for your three-in-one deal for cable TV, cable modem and
During this three-month period I have encountered inadequacy of service
which I had not previously considered possible, as well as ignorance and
stupidity of monolithic proportions.
Please allow me to provide specific details, so that you can either pursue
your professional prerogative, and seek to rectify these difficulties - or
more likely (I suspect) so that you can have some entertaining reading
material as you while away the working day smoking B&H and drinking
vendor-coffee on the bog in your office.
My initial installation was cancelled without warning, resulting in my
spending an entire Saturday sitting on my fat arse waiting for your
technician to arrive. When he did not arrive, I spent a further 57 minutes
listening to your infuriating hold music, and the even more annoying
Scottish robot woman telling me to look at your helpful website. HOW? I
alleviated the boredom by playing with my testicles for a few minutes - an
activity at which you are no-doubt both familiar and highly adept. The
rescheduled installation then took place some two weeks later, although
the technician did forget to bring a number of vital tools - such as a
drill-bit, and his cerebrum.
Two weeks later, my cable modem had still not arrived. After 15 telephone
calls over four weeks my modem arrived ... six weeks after I had requested
it, and begun to pay for it.
I estimate your internet servers downtime is roughly 35% - the hours
between about 6 pm and midnight, Monday through Friday, and most of the
I am still waiting for my telephone connection. I have made nine calls on
my mobile to your no-help line, and have been unhelpfully transferred to a
variety of disinterested individuals, who are it seems also highly skilled
I have been informed that a telephone line is available (and someone will
call me back); that I will be transferred to someone who knows whether or
not a telephone line is available (and then been cut off); that I will be
transferred to someone (and then been redirected to an answer machine
informing me that your office is closed); that I will be transferred to
someone and then been redirected to the irritating Scottish robot woman.
And several other variations on this theme.
Doubtless you are no longer reading this letter, as you have at least a
thousand other dissatisfied customers to ignore, and also another one of
those crucially important testicle moments to attend to.
Frankly I don't care. It's far more satisfying as a customer to voice my
frustrations in print than to shout them at your unending hold music.
Forgive me, therefore, if I continue. I thought British Telecom was shit;
that they had attained the holy piss-pot of god-awful customer relations;
and that no one, anywhere, ever, could be more disinterested, less helpful
or more obstructive to delivering service to their customers. That's why I
chose NTL, and because, well, there isn't anyone else is there?
How surprised I therefore was, when I discovered to my considerable
dissatisfaction and disappointment what a useless shower of bastards you
truly are. You are sputum-filled pieces of distended rectum incompetents
of the highest order.
BT - wankers though they are -- shine like brilliant beacons of success,
in the filthy mire of your seemingly limitless inadequacy. Suffice to say
that I have now given up on my futile and foolhardy quest to receive any
kind of service from you.
I suggest that you cease any potential future attempts to extort payment
from me for the services which you have so pointedly and catastrophically
failed to deliver. Any such activity will be greeted initially with
hilarity and disbelief -- quickly be replaced by derision, and even
perhaps bemused rage.
I enclose two small deposits, selected with great care from my cat's
litter tray, as an expression of my utter and complete contempt for both
you and your pointless company. I sincerely hope that they have not become
desiccated during transit -- they were satisfyingly moist at the time of
posting, and I would feel considerable disappointment if you did not
experience both their rich aroma and delicate texture. Consider them the
very embodiment of my feelings towards NTL, and its worthless employees.
Have a nice day. May it be the last in your miserable short life, you
irritatingly incompetent and infuriatingly unhelpful bunch of twats.
Thirty years have passed since the war.
Three war veterans, an American, a German and an Englishman, happen to
meet in a pub and they start discussing the qualities of their compatriots
during the war.
"When I was a G.I., buddies, there was nothing could beat my sergeant! He
got shot right in the belly. Half his guts spilled out on the ground. He
picked up and carried what he could, and we took him to the field hospital
where the doctor sewed him up. Two days later he was on parade!"
"I can tell you, my friendz, zere is nussing like my sergeant. He got a
bullet exactly in za middle of his head. His brains spilled out all over
ze ground. He pushed most of them back in, walked himself to za field
infirmary where zey put a cork in his head. He was on parade za next day!"
"I say, my dear fellows, nothing beats the British, absolutely nothing. No
guts, no brains, on parade every day!"
Below are genuine announcements made by
Tube Drivers on the London Underground.
"To the gentleman wearing the long grey coat trying to get on the second
carriage, what part of 'Stand clear of the doors!' don't you understand?"
At Camden town station (on a crowded Saturday afternoon): "Please let the
passengers off the train first. Please let the passengers off the train
first. Please let the passengers off the train first. Let the passengers
off the train FIRST! Oh go on then, stuff yourselves in like Sardines, see
if I care, I'm going home."
"Ladies & Gentleman, upon departing the train may I remind you to take
your rubbish with you. Despite the fact that you are in something that is
metal, fairly round, filthy and smells, this is a tube train for public
transport and not a bin on wheels."
Driver: "I apologise for the delay leaving the station ladies and
gentlemen, this is due to a passenger m*st*rb*ting on the train at Edgware
Road. Someone has activated the alarm and he is being removed from the
"Ladies and Gentlemen, do you want the good news first or the bad news?
The good news is that last Friday was my birthday and I hit the town and
had a great time. I felt sadly let down by the fact that none of you sent
me a card! I drive you to work and home each day and not even a card. The
bad news is that there is a point's failure somewhere between Stratford
and East Ham, which means that we probably won't reach our destination. We
may have to stop and return. I won't reverse back up the line - simply get
out walk up the platform and go back to where we started. In the mean time
if you get bored you can simply talk to the man in front or beside you or
opposite you. Let me start you off: 'Hi, my name's Gary how do you do?'."
"Your delay this evening is caused by the line controller suffering from
elbow and backside syndrome, not knowing his elbow from his backside. I'll
let you know any further information as soon as I'm given any."
"Please mind the closing doors..." The doors close... The doors reopen.
"Passengers are reminded that the big red slidey things on the side of the
train are called the doors. Let's try it again. Please stand clear of the
doors." The doors close... "Thank you."
"I am sorry about the delay, apparently some nutter has just wandered into
the tunnel at Euston. We don't know when we'll be moving again, but these
people tend to come out pretty quickly... usually in bits."
"Ladies and Gentlemen, I do apologise for the delay to your service. I
know you're all dying to get home, unless, of course, you happen to be
married to my ex-wife, in which case you'll want to cross over to the
Westbound and go in the opposite direction".
"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologise for the delay, but there is a security
alert at Victoria station and we are therefore stuck here for the
foreseeable future, so let's take our minds off it and pass some time
together. All together now.... 'Ten green bottles, hanging on a
"We are now travelling through Baker Street, as you can see Baker Street
is closed. It would have been nice if they had actually told me, so I
could tell you earlier, but no, they don't think about things like that".
"Beggars are operating on this train, please do NOT encourage these
professional beggars, if you have any spare change, please give it to a
registered charity, failing that, give it to me."
During an extremely hot rush hour on the Central Line, the driver
announced in a West Indian drawl: "Step right this way for the sauna,
ladies and gentlemen... unfortunately towels are not provided."
"Please allow the doors to close! Try not to confuse this with 'Please
hold the doors open'. The two are distinct and separate instructions."
"Please note that the beeping noise coming from the doors means that the
doors are about to close. It does not mean throw yourself or your bags
into the doors."
"We can't move off because some idiot has their f***ing hand stuck in the
"Please move all baggage away from the doors (Pause..) Please move ALL
belongings away from the doors (Pause...) This is a personal message to
the man in the brown suit wearing glasses at the rear of the train - put
the pie down, four-eyes, and move your bloody golf clubs away from the
door before I come down there and shove them up your a**e - sideways."
"May I remind all passengers that there is strictly no smoking allowed on
any part of the Underground. However, if you are smoking a joint, it's
only fair that you pass it round the rest of the carriage."
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