Meat for sex? Vegetarians, look away now...

Just when we are hoping that our mammal friends have far more eco-friendly lifestyles, we discover that this group ... albeit closer to us in DNA terms than most other mammalian species ... is openly thumbing its nose at veggies in favour of meat-for-sex.

Well, can you blame them? Thousands wouldn't.... click here for da gory details...

Want to see the real phallusy?

Yes, of course - you knew it all along, didn't you. It's a baby giant panda. Lots of good karma (sorry, can't afford champagne) to Cathy who guessed correctly...



Thanks to BearsOfTheWorld.net for the loan of the photo. Read all about pandas and other bears on that site - it's well worth a look.

This really is a phallusy

Care to hazard a guess what this is? I will send lots of good karma to the winner ... get writing those comments now!

Pigs share party food in police parking lot festivities

.....



With sincere apologies to Margate (UK) Police. Read all about it here.)

Bother-A-Banker actions could help clean up our environment

Tut, tut to the naughty folks ransacking the home of former Royal Bank of Scotland head honcho Sir Fred Goodwin, alleged to be a group called "Bank Bosses Are Criminals."

It seems they represent people who have become a little warm under the collar over recent alleged vast self-congratulatory sums disappearing into the pockets of bank wallahs, whom the BBAC feel are undeserving of such rich rewards.

However I think we should use this opportunity to clean up our streets and deposit the result in appropriate places. So I am pleased to announce my own initiative which is simple yet subtle and would avoid all these nasty criminal proceedings (well, most of them, anyway.)

The answer? Simply clean up a quantity of doggy-doo from your street, garden or grass verge (see illustration,) wrap it in newspaper, and place parcel on doorstep of appropriate bank official. Then set fire to the newspaper, ring the doorbell and run like hell.

Aforementioned banker answers and opens door, sees flames, stamps them out with his foot.

Oh, it's easy when you know how.

(With thanks to whoever went to the extraordinary lengths to photograph dog sh*t at such close quarters.)

Parents hit roof over 60 foot willy

Seems a certain young man would do well to prolong his student backpacking travels until his parents calm down about this. Not only did they hit the roof on its discovery but also said young man will be hitting the roof with a scrubbing brush immediately upon his return.

60 foot penis? Now, now, you mustn't think dirty, Mum and Dad. Sonny-boy meant it to be a very long artillery cannon with very short wheels. Didn't he.

Toilets, crotches, facelifts and other idle gossip

It’s been a busy day’s media observation here on The Suze Report, so with no further ado...


No sh*t, Sherlock

Management of the Clorox Company in San Francisco are appalled about a scatological arsonist who allegedly has cost them fifty-thousand bucks or more by torching portable conveniences on construction sites around this delightful American city – and the company is now seeking to have the offender apprehended, no matter what.

The reward on offer for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the perps?

A year’s supply of toilet cleaning products.

Please, before pandemonium breaks out can we form an orderly line-up to offer solutions to this dastardly crime?

More on this story here.


New Jersey fails in bid to promote hairy crotches

In its concern for its citizens’ epidermal/genital health, The Cosmetology and Hairstyling Board of US state New Jersey has called for Brazilian bikini waxes to be banned as allegedly these are harmful to health. This is as a result of two lady shavees having been hospitalized due to allegedly resultant infections.


Happily for local beauty parlours and other shavers of the nether regions, the State of New Jersey has not supported the initiative and would appear to be letting local Brazilian punters take their own chances. To quote one spa owner in the state ... “stay out of our pants.”

See the full Monty here.


Cosmetic surgeons finally make Bride of Wildenstein look normal

Having been shocked at the results of her earlier plastic surgery I was delighted to see that her face is now, finally, being restored to its former glory.


It just goes to show how a few bits of Meccano and some serious creative thinking can turn a monster into, well, another .....


Toodle pip.

It's enough to drive you nutz...

I've seen it all now.

These have to be the ultimate gifts for the man who has everything ... apart from a couple of small things....

British fire crews not amused by sawn-off pony

As if we weren't stressed enough with the cost of this and that right now, fire crews in Hampshire, England are whining about the cost of endless trips to "save" a small pony. Passers-by assume she is disappearing in deep doo-doo when in fact her only problem is short legs.

According to the BBC News website (along with several other British news sources) Mayflower the mini-mare appears to be a Shetland/New Forest pony cross which probably accounts for the rather strange cocktail emerging from her gene pool.

"These calls from the public are with good intent. When viewed at long range, this pony looks like it is trapped, particularly if it is standing still next to its mates which are twice its height," continues the BBC story.

Apparently Mayflower is perfectly healthy and gobsmacks well-intentioned members of the public when despite appearing to be up to her nether regions in quicksand, she gallops off contentedly.

Reminds me of the following story from (plug, plug) one of my books, namely Canine Capers ...

****************************************

At the height of the arms race some years ago, the Americans and Russians realised that, if they continued, before long they would finish up by destroying the world. So they discussed the issue at a top secret summit meeting and decided to settle the whole argument with a dogfight.

The negotiators agreed that each country would take five years to develop the best fighting dog they could. The winning dog would earn its country the right to rule the world. The losing country would have to lay down its arms.

The Russians found the biggest, fiercest Dobermans and Rottweilers in all of the Soviet Union. They cross-bred them and then crossed their offspring with the fiercest Siberian wolves. They selected only the biggest, strongest puppy from the final litter, removed all the other puppies and left the lone dog to grow strong and large. They used steroids and rigorous training in aggression and ruthless killing power. Finally when the five years were up, they had a dog that oozed murder from every pore and had to be restrained in cage made from steel girders. Only the trainers could handle this beast, and even they had to exercise extreme caution.

When the day of the final fight dawned, the Americans arrived with a bizarre animal. It was a nine-foot-long Basset Hound. The Russians pitied the Americans. None of them thought this weird dog stood a chance against the growling monster in the Russian cage. Bookies around the world lay very short odds on the Russians winning in a matter of seconds.

The cages were opened and the dogs released. The Basset Hound waddled towards the middle of the ring. The Russian dog leapt from his cage and charged the giant sausage-dog.

The moment the two dogs met, the Basset Hound opened its jaws and consumed the Russian monster in one mouthful. There was nothing left but a few tufts of fur from the Russian dog's tail.

The Russians walked over to the Americans, blinking their eyes in disbelief. "We cannot comprehend. Our foremost scientists and trainers laboured for five years with the strongest, fiercest Dobermans, Rottweilers and Siberian wolves. They created a killing machine."

"You don’t say," the Americans replied. "Well, we got our foremost cosmetic surgeons labouring for five years to make a crocodile look like a Basset Hound."

****************************************

(Thanks to the copyright owners for the loan of the photos ... you know the deal: I don't earn from this, so you don't either, but let me give you a credit if I can! The pic of Mayflower the pony appears to be accredited to the PA, but that of the Basset Hound is unclear.

How to cure recession depression

Many thanks to my good friend Laurence H. from London, England, who is managing to keep himself cheerful during our hard financial times with such anecdotes as:

* What's the capital of Iceland ? - About £3.50

* How do you define optimism? A banker who irons five shirts on a Sunday

* Why have (real) estate agents stopped looking out of the window in the morning? Because otherwise they'd have nothing to do in the afternoon

*What's the difference between an investment banker and a large pizza? The pizza can still feed a family of four.

*As a surprise, a chief exec's wife pops by his office. She finds him in an unorthodox position, with his secretary sitting in his lap. Without hesitation, he starts dictating: '. . . and in conclusion, gentlemen, credit crunch or no credit crunch, I cannot continue to operate this office with just one chair

*What's the difference between an investment banker and a pigeon? The pigeon is still capable of leaving a deposit on a new Ferrari.

*A lobbyist on his way home from Parliament is stuck in traffic. Noticing a police officer, he winds down his window and asks: 'What's the hold-up?' The policeman replies: 'The Prime Minister is so depressed he's stopped his motorcade and is threatening to douse himself with petrol and set himself on fire. 'He says no one believes he can get us through the credit crunch. So we're taking up a collection for him.' The lobbyist asks: 'How much have you got so far?' The officer replies: 'About 40 gallons, but a lot of people are still siphoning.'

*The credit crunch has helped me get back on my feet. The car's been repossessed.

*Latest news: The Isle of Dogs bank has collapsed. They've called in the retrievers.

*What do you say to a hedge fund manager who can't sell anything? A Quarter-pounder with fries, please.

*Bradford & Bingley employees are concerned they were given no notice of the takeover by Santander Bank. A Government spokesman said: 'No one expected the Spanish acquisition.'

You know it's a credit crunch when...

...The cashpoint (ATM) asks if you can spare any change.

...There's a 'buy one, get one free' offer - on banks.

...The Inland Revenue is offering a 25 per cent discount for cash-payers.

...Gordon Brown has stopped chewing his nails and started sucking his thumb.

...Your builder (construction company) asks to be paid in Zimbabwean dollars rather than sterling.

...Highgrove has been repossessed.

...Victoria Beckham is pictured shopping in Primark.

...Alistair Darling's eyebrows have turned white.

*Gordon Brown, Alistair Darling and Peter Mandelson are flying to a world economic summit. Peter looks at Alistair and chuckles: 'You know,I could throw a £50 note out of the window right now and make one person very happy.' Alistair shrugs his shoulders and says: 'Well, I could throw five £10 notes out of the window and make five people very happy.' Gordon says: 'Of course, but I could throw ten £5 notes out of the window and make ten people very happy.' The pilot rolls his eyes, looks at all of them, and says: 'I could throw all of you out of the window and make the whole country happy.'

Chewing gum: new health threat

Thanks to The Assertive Cancer Patient for drawing my attention to this alarming notice:

Challenging new job for Edward Scissorhands despite recession

I'm delighted to announce that, according to my spies on the street, Edward Scissorhands has found a wow of a new job to counteract falling interest in his movie.

Scientists wanting to track the movements of crocodiles in Florida and discourage the cuddly lambs from munching human yum-yums have come up with a fab idea ... place magnets on their noses to confuse them and persuade them to return to the wild.

According to this Reuters article, "Crocodiles are notoriously territorial and when biologists move them from urban areas to new homes in the wild, they often go right back to the place where they were captured, traveling up to 10 miles a week to get there. Scientists believe they rely in part on the Earth's magnetic fields to navigate, and that taping magnets to both sides of their heads disorients them."

The Reuters report sadly doesn't elaborate on who gets to tape the magnets to the crocs' faces, but we have it on good authority that our Ed is rushing down to Florida as we speak to, er, give them a hand.

And it's possible that we can look forward to some very short-nosed crocs down there in the near future.

As always, grateful thanks for whoever that illustration belongs to and although I don't do money (don't make any out of this blog) I will gladly give you a proper credit.

"I feel violated" - woman outraged by papparazzi pix of her nostrils

In a shock sequel to this story in today's UK Guardian, senior citizen Miss Mavis Trunch has proclaimed her outraged dismay to the Press Complaints Commission about pictures taken recently from a camera hidden, she alleges, in the salad cream dispenser at the snack bar at her local hospital and then disgracefully sold to the red-top tabloid media.

"Never mind these silly, precious young bitches whining about cameras poking up their skirts," rants Miss Trunch, "I utterly resent camera lenses displaying whatever I might have up my nose at any one time. Especially when its contents are being so tastefully dealt with by my awfully nice ENT surgeon who is the most charming nose-picker of all time."

Submarine captains: should they re-take their driving tests?

Considering that the Atlantic Ocean measures well in excess of 40 million square miles, I can't help but marvel at the way two submarines belonging to (we assume) friendly nations managed to whack into each other earlier this month.

I've heard of "not letting the left hand know what the right hand is doing," but when both hands contain nuclear equipment, that's when I get twitchy.

BBC defence correspondent Caroline Wyatt said the incident was "incredibly embarrassing" for the Ministry of Defence (MoD)... this is clearly a one-in-a-million chance when you think about how big the Atlantic is." No kidding?

The BBC News website continues ... "The submarines are equipped with sonar to detect other vessels nearby but our correspondent said it might be the case that the anti-sonar devices, meant to hide the submarines from enemies, were 'too effective'."

Too effective? Oh, please.

Don't know about you, but IMHO sub captains need to get their heads out from up their asses and their anti-sonar devices, and re-learn the basics of steering.

And people still bitch about women drivers?

American woman picks nose for first time in 30 years

Contrary to various media reports over the last couple of days I'm reliably informed that this lady - far from grieving for her 36-inch fingernails crushed in a recent road accident - is in fact jubilant.

"You'll notice that in most pictures of me I have my mouth open," the attractive grandmother allegedly says. "That's because I haven't had a decent nose pick in more than three decades and I couldn't breathe through it."

"Since all my nails broke off in that fortuitous car wreck however," I'm told she rejoices, "I've been having a good old dig around most nights and the pile of debris is already a couple of feet high. I've even cancelled an upcoming nose job with my plastic surgeon as my nostrils are now half the size they were."

Every cloud has a silver lining.

(With thanks to the copyright owner for the loan of the photograph. As always if it's yours let me know and I'll give you a full-blasted credit.)

Should horse-riding be listed as Class "A" drug?

There's alarming news for those of us who regard our hobby of horse-riding as wholesome, healthy and harmless.

It seems the chairman of the Home Office’s Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs has stated "that ecstasy is less dangerous than horse-riding," according to this article in yesterday's Daily Mail.

"In an academic paper, he ridiculed concern about the effects of ecstasy by comparing it to ‘equasy’ or ‘Equine Addiction Syndrome’."

"Since the pleasure of horse-riding meant people were prepared to risk death or brain damage from falling off a horse, he said, the risks from taking ecstasy and other drugs could be seen to be much exaggerated."


So much for the wise words of aptly-named Professor David Nutt. When I checked this out with equine spokesmares Lola (above left) and Macy (above right), they immediately began discussing the issue.

However after a rave held last night at Lola's and Macy's stable yard and broken up by the (Mounted) Police, Lola (near right) expressed strong disapproval of any connection with illegal substances and insisted that horse addiction is purely good, clean fun. Macy (far right) was heard only to comment "bloody neigh-sayers spoil all the fun... zzzzzzzzz."

(With thanks to Lola, Macy and Jules.)

Here comes the chain reaction, Mr Hoon

You can't help remembering Marie Antoinette's remark about letting them "eat cake" if there was no bread, when you consider the pouting Geoffrey Hoon's latest put down of us recession-hit, snow-stuck motorists here in the UK.

Speaking at what was undoubtedly a jolly lunch in London on Friday, our revered Transport Secretary is reported to have said "Why has nobody got snow chains and why are you all whingeing about what the Government hasn’t done? If you live in the Alps you have snow chains in the back of your car. So why have none of you intelligent, capable people got chains?"

What I suspect Mr Hoon may have forgotten - apart from a negligible difference in altitude between the UK and the Alps - is that even if only a few thousand of us coughed up the necessary £50 or so to buy or rent chains, he - or rather the taxpayer - soon would be faced with a sizzling bill for road repair.

According to the spokesperson for Brindley Chains interviewed by the UK's Daily Mail (and a fact well known by anyone who has driven in snow chains) they're only of use when the road's covered with thick snow and ice. Even in the extremely snowy Great Lakes region of Canada where I come from, chains are only ever deployed in very bad, deep-snow conditions.

On slush or thin ice - which is what you find on most British roads - snow chains chew through it and turn the surface into granola. (And how much would that cost Mr Hoon's Highways Agency to repair?) They're noisy, give a bumpy ride and your top speed in them is about 20 mph. Perfect for the morning commute.

Do us a favour, Mr Hoon. Just stick to digging up salt.

How to make a fortune during this recession

Now that much of the UK is under a thick woolly blanket of at least two inches of snow, the Highways Agency and local councils have announced that they are running out of salt for the roads.

I'm told that impoverished City of London traders and bankers have been trampling each other in their rush to nearby supermarkets to buy up as many containers of salt as they can carry. Rumour has it that kilo for kilo, salt will soon be worth considerably more than crude oil and gold put together.

I have two containers of Tesco table salt in my cupboard and although it has been suggested that I put them up for auction on eBay, I have made it known to the Highways Agency that I would consider parting with them for a reasonable 6-figure tax-free sum.

Even I could manage without salt on my fish and chips for dinner. Just this once. (Thanks to whoever took that picture - and if you don't want the salt, send it COD to The Highways Agency, 123 Buckingham Palace Road, London SW1W 9HA. I'm sure they'll put a cheque in the mail right away.)

Forgive me... (I'm feeling orchestral)

...for not posting recently. I have been overcome with that filthy 4-letter word, W-O-R-K.

For now please share the following information which I find somewhat disturbing...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The CEO of a large healthcare company was also chairman of the board of his community's symphony orchestra.

Finding he could not go to one of their concerts, he gave the tickets to the head of the company's auditors, a respected accountant and business consultant.

The next morning, the CEO asked the business consultant how he enjoyed the performances. Instead of the expected usual polite remarks, the consultant handed him a report which read as follows:

1. The attendance of the orchestra conductor is unnecessary for public performances. The orchestra has obviously practiced and has received prior authorization from the conductor to play the symphony at a predetermined level of quality. Considerable money could have
been saved merely by having the conductor critique the orchestra's performance during a retrospective peer review meeting.

2. For considerable periods, the four oboe players had nothing to do. Their numbers should be reduced and their work spread over the whole orchestra, thus eliminating peaks and troughs of activity.

3. All twelve violins were playing identical notes with identical motions. This is unnecessary duplication: the staff of this section should be drastically cut with consequent savings. If a larger volume of sound is required, this could be obtained through electric amplification, which has reached very high levels of reproductive quality.

4. Much effort was expended playing 16th notes or semi-quavers. This seems excessive refinement as most of the listeners are unable to distinguish such rapid playing. It is recommended that all notes be rounded up to the nearest eighth. If this is done, it would be
possible to use trainees and lower grade operators with no loss of quality.

5. No useful purpose would appear to be served by repeating with horns the same passage that has already been handled by the strings. If all such redundant passages were eliminated, as determined by the utilization review committee, the concert could have been reduced from two hours to twenty minutes, with greater savings in salaries and overhead. In fact, if Schubert had attended to these matters on a cost containment basis, he probably would have been able to finish his symphony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where would we be without accountants and practical, sensible CEOs, eh?

ZZZZZzzzzzzzzz......

Lord Obama Of The Dance

You know how little discrepancies intrigue me (well, if you didn't you do now and I bet you wouldn't have made it through the weekend without knowing that, huh?) Anyway, while listening to that delightful quartet miming to a pre-recorded track at our Barack's do, my long ears pricked up.

And yes, I did say miming. Not that I suggest we do an Elton John on these poor folks; trying to play musical instruments in sub-zero temperatures is not only uncomfortable but also a recipe for disaster, as this article in the New York Times kindly pointed out. Miming to their own guidetrack was merely a sensible precaution.

What made me sit up was that, despite the NY Times and other media being convinced that the music they played had been especially written for the occasion by John Williams, what should I hear bang in the middle of it but strains of that old favourite, "Lord Of The Dance." That melody has a pretty chequered history, but the song is said to have been written in 1963 by Sydney Carter and has since been morphed into Michael Flatley's Riverdancesque extravaganza of the same name.

Surely not? Quick rewind to review the (pre-recorded) Presidential performance ... but someone had, after all done their homework. In introducing the quartet Senator Dianne Feinstein quite deliberately said not "written by" but "arranged by" John Williams. Phew.

What a copyright bunfight that could have been. And before Ron Edmonds and the Associated Press (to whom this photograph belongs) reach for their lawyers ... unlike the White House and the US Government I'm not worth suing, but thank you for the loan.