The Official WBW 'Down Under' Joke Thread.

An American decided to write a book about famous churches around the world.

So he bought a plane ticket and took a trip to Orlando, thinking that he would start by working his way across the USA from South to North.

On his first day he was inside a church taking photographs when he noticed a golden telephone mounted on the wall with a sign that read '$10,000 per call'.

The American, being intrigued, asked a priest who was strolling by what the telephone was used for.

The priest replied that it was a direct line to heaven and that for $10,000 you could talk to God.

The American thanked the priest and went on his way.

Next stop was in Atlanta. There, at a very large cathedral, he saw the same golden telephone with the same sign under it.

He wondered if this was the same kind of telephone he saw in Orlando and he asked a nearby nun what its purpose was.

She told him that it was a direct line to heaven and that for $10,000 he could talk to God.

'O.K., thank you,' said the traveller.

He then travelled all across America, Europe, England, Japan, New Zealand.
In every church he saw the same golden telephone with the same '$10,000 per call' sign under it.

He arrived on the Gold Coast, in Australia and again, in the first church he entered, there was the same golden telephone, but this time the sign under it read $10.00 per call.'

The American was surprised so he asked the priest about the sign. 'Father, I've travelled all over the world and I've seen this same golden telephone in many churches. I'm told that it is a direct line to Heaven, but in all of them price was $10,000 per call is your price correct, if so why is it so cheap here?'

The priest smiled and answered, 'You're in Australia now, son - it's a local call'.

KEEP SMILING


this must have been before Telstra lost it monolopy........

Thanks Caveman !!!

The Emu:
An Aussie truckie walks into an outback cafe' with a full-grown emu behind him. The waitress asks them for their orders.

The truckie says, 'A hamburger, chips and a coke,' and turns to the emu, 'What's yours?' 'I'll have the same,' says the emu.

A short time later the waitress returns with the order 'That will be $9.40 please,' and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the exact change for payment.

The next day, the man and the emu come again and he says, 'A hamburger, chips and a coke.' The emu says, 'I'll have the same.'

Again the truckie reaches into his pocket and pays with exact change.

This becomes routine until the two enter again. 'The usual?' asks the waitress.

'No, it's Friday night, so I'll have a steak, baked potato and a salad,' says the man. 'Same,' says the emu.

Shortly the waitress brings the order and says, 'That will be $32.62.'

Once again the man pulls the exact change out of his pocket and places it on the table.

The waitress cannot hold back her curiosity any longer. 'Excuse me, mate, how do you manage to always come up with the exact change in your pocket every time?'

'Well, love' says the truckie, 'a few years ago, I was cleaning out the back shed, and found an old lamp. When I rubbed it, a Genie appeared and offered me two wishes. My first wish was that if I ever had to pay for anything, I would just put my hand in my pocket and the right amount of money would always be there.'


'That's brilliant!' says the waitress. 'Most people would ask for a million dollars or something, but you'll always be as rich as you want for as long as you live!'

'That's right. Whether it's a gallon of milk or a Rolls Royce, the exact money is always there,' says the man. The waitress asks, 'What's with the bloody emu?'

The truckie sighs, pauses, and answers, 'My second wish was for a tall chick with a big arse and long legs, who agrees with everything I say.'

good one Syd

Sex:
The young novice nun soon realised that the absence of sex in the convent was a problem. She confessed to Mother Superior that it was unhealthy and she was restless.

"Comfort yourself with a candle," she was advised.

"I've tried that," she said, "but you get tired of the same thing wick in and wick out."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This guy goes out with his buddies for a night on the town and they cap off the festivities by going to a house of ill repute.

A week later, the guy visits his doctor complaining of a large green lump on the end of his penis.

The doctor does a thorough exam, then pulls down a weighty medical book and flicks through it till he finds what he's looking for. He looks up and says, "I'm afraid this is serious. We'll have to operate!"

"Operate?", exclaims the fellow, "Why, Doc? What's the problem?"

"Well, you know how boxers can get a cauliflower ear? You've developed the same sort of thing. You've got a brothel sprout."

New Defense Registration Plates: PPS File.

Australian Bush Poetry ---- The Thunderbox:
The Old Service Station

The service station trade was slow.
The owner sat around,
With sharpened knife and cedar stick.
Piled shavings on the ground.

No modern facilities had they,
The log across the rill
Led to a shack, marked His and Hers
That sat against the hill.

'Where is the ladies restroom, sir?'
The owner leaning back,
Said not a word but whittled on,
And nodded toward the shack.


With quickened step she entered there
But only stayed a minute,
Until she screamed, just like a snake
Or spider might be in it.

With startled look and beet red face
She bounded through the door,
And headed quickly for the car
Just like three gals before.

She tripped and fell -- got up,
And then in obvious disgust,
Ran to the car, stepped on the gas,
And faded in the dust.

Of course we all desired to know
What made the gals all do
The things they did, and then we found
The whittling owner knew.

A speaking system he'd devised
To make the thing complete,
He tied a speaker on the wall
Beneath the toilet seat.

He'd wait until the gals got set and then the devilish guy,
Would stop his whittling long enough, to speak into the mike.
And as she sat, a voice below struck terror, fright and fear

'Will you please use the other hole?
We're painting under here'

Been around before, but still a good laugh!




An accent not infrequently experienced in Sydney...( not in Mozzzzzzman and Creama Point...)

TANJEWBERRYMUDS


To get the full effect, this should be read aloud. You will understand what 'tanjewberrymuds' means by the end of the conversation. This has been nominated for the best email of 2007.

The following is a telephone exchange between a hotel guest and room-service, at a hotel in Asia, which was recorded and published in the Far East Economic Review:


Room Service (RS): "Morrin. - Roon sirbees."



Guest (G): "Sorry, I thought I dialed room-service."



RS: " Rye ..Roon sirbees..morrin! Jewish to oddor sunteen??"


G: "Uh..yes.I'd like some bacon and eggs."


RS: "Ow July den?"

G: "What??"


RS: "Ow July den?...pryed, boyud, poochd?"


G : "Oh, the eggs! How do I like them?
Sorry, scrambled please."


RS: "Ow July dee baykem? Crease?"

G: "Crisp will be fine."


RS : "Hokay. An Sahn toes?"


G: "What?"


RS:"An toes. July Sahn toes?"


G: "I don't think so."


RS: "No? Judo wan sahn toes??"


G: "I feel really bad about this, but I don't know what 'judo wan sahn toes' means."


RS: "Toes! toes!...Why jew don juan toes? Ow bow Anglish moppin we bodder?"


G: "English muffin!! I've got it! You were saying 'Toast.' Fine. Yes, an English muffin will be fine."


RS: "We bodder?"

G: "No...just put the bodder on the side."


RS: "Wad! ?"


G: "I mean butter...just put it on the side."

RS: "Copy?"

G: "Excuse me?"


RS: "Copy...tea...meel?"


G: "Yes. Coffee, please, and that's all."


RS: "One Minnie. Scramah egg, crease baykem, Anglish moppin w bodder on sigh and copy....rye??"


G: "Whatever you say."


RS: "Tenjewberrymuds."

G : "You're very welcome."

An Indian Mystery revealed; Finally someone has cleared this up for me................

For centuries, Hindu women have worn a dot on their foreheads. Most of us have naively thought this was connected with marriage or religion, but the Indian High Commission in Canberra has recently revealed the
true story.

When a Hindu woman gets married, she brings a dowry into the union. On her wedding night, the husband scratches off the dot to see whether he has won a taxi rego plate in Adelaide, a convenience store in Melbourne, a service station in Perth, a kebab shop in Brisbane or a take away café in Sydney.

If there is nothing there, he must take a job in India answering telephones giving technical advice to Telstra and Optus customers in Australia.

I almost fell out of my chair...besides the spew...

Tnx Syd

Hi Syd

another great laugh

Keep up the good work

Caveman

Hi Caveman56, here is one esp. for u.
A Lesson in Politics:
I was talking to a friend of mine's little girl and she said she wanted to be Prime Minister some day. Both of her parents, Labor, were standing there, so I asked her:
“If you were Prime Minister what would be the first thing you’d do?”
She replied, “I'd give food and houses to all the homeless people.”
“Wow - what a worthy goal.” I told her, “But you don't have to wait until you're Prime Minister to do that. You can come over to my house and mow the lawn, pull up the weeds, sweep my patio, and I'll pay you $50. Then I'll take you over to Coles where a homeless chap hangs out, and you can give him the $50 to use toward food or a new house.”
She thought that over for a few seconds 'cause she's only six.
And while her Mum glared at me, she looked me straight in the eye and asked,
“Why doesn't the homeless man come over and do the work, and you can just pay him the $50?”

“And I replied, “Welcome to the Liberal Party.”

Her parents still aren't talking to me.

Hi Syd

Maybe we need to start teaching this type of Politics in schools at that age, It might inprove the work ethic in the welfare generation

I think we have created a problem childten see the parents get money for nothing and than expect the same for themselves, I see this everyday in Campbelltown (Sydney) ....plus with my sister and one of her children.

We need to send them to the fire zone to see what life is really all about


Keep up the good work

Caveman

For us Westies!
A Blacktown girl goes to Centrelink to register for child benefit.

"How many children?" asks the assessor.

"Ten" replies the Blacktown girl,

"Ten?" says the Centrelink worker.

"What are their names?"

"Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan
and Nathan"

"Doesn't that get confusing?"

"Naah..." says the Blacktown girl, "Its great because if they are out
playing in the street I just have shout 'NATHAN, YER DINNER'S READY!' or

'NATHAN GO TO BED NOW!' and they all do it..."

"What if you want to speak to one individually?" says the perturbed
Centrelink worker.

"That's easy," says the Blacktown girl... "I just use their surnames"





A Fairfield girl enters an adult shop & asks for a vibrator.

The man says: "Choose one from our range on the wall." She says "I'll
take the red one."

The man replies: "That's a fire extinguisher."





Q. Two Redfern girls jump off a cliff. Who wins?

A. Society.





Q. What do you call a 30 year old Mt Druitt girl?

A. Granny.



Q. Why did the Redfern girl cross the road?

A. To start a fight with a complete stranger for no reason whatsoever.



Q. What do you call a Bankstown girl in a white tracksuit?

A. The bride.



Q. What's the first question during an Wentworthville quiz night?

A. What you looking at?


Q. What does a Mt Druitt girl use as protection during sex?

A. A bus shelter.




Q. Two Cabramatta kids in a car without any music - who is driving?

A. The policeman.



Q. What's the difference between a boy and a Mt Druitt girl?

A. A Mt Druitt girl has a higher sperm count.



Q. What's the most confusing day in Blacktown ?

A. Fathers day



Q. How do people know Jesus wasn't born in Blacktown ?

A. You try finding 3 wise men and a virgin there!

Been around before, but have another chuckle..............

Subject:They ought to try our Elfinsafetea dept!

love this

Australian letter of the year

This is an actual letter sent to the then DFAT Minster, The Hon Alexander Downer and the then Immigration,
The Hon Minister Amanda Vanstone.

The Government tried in desperation to censure the author,
but got nowhere because every legal person who read it nearly wet themselves laughing!
Please excuse the language contained within, but I suspect the author was somewhat upset? I'll let you decide!

Another happy customer of the Federal government.
A fabulous characteristic of Australians is that we are far more direct and outspoken than others when dealing with the
sort of elected wanker who wouldn't otherwise get the full drift of what they were trying to communicate.

Below is one such wonderful communication...

Dear Mr. Minister,

I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still and cannot believe this.
How is it that K-Mart has my address and telephone number,
and knows that I bought a Television Set and Golf Clubs
from them back in 1997, and yet, the Federal Government
is still asking me where I was born and on what date.
For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand?
My birth date you have in my Medicare information, and it
is on all the income tax forms I've filed for the past
40 years. It is on my driver's licence, on the last eight passports I've
ever had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms
I've had to fill out before being
allowed off the planes over the last 30 years, and all
those insufferable census forms that I've filled out every 5 years since 1966.
Also..would somebody please take note, once and for all,
that my mother's name is Audrey, my Father's name is Jack, and I'd be
absolutely bloody astounded if that ever changed between now and when I drop dead!!!...
I apologize, Mr. Minister. But I'm really pissed off this morning. Between you an' me, I've had enough of
all this bullshit! You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my bloody address!! What the hell is going on with your mob? Have you got a gang of mindless Neanderthal arseholes workin' there!
And another thing, look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? I can't even grow a beard for God's
sakes. I just want to go to New Zealand and see my new granddaughter. (Yes, my son
interbred with a Kiwi girl). And would someone please tell me, why would
you give a shit whether I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days? If I ever got the urge to do something weird
to a sheep or a horse, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone!
Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other end of the city, and get another bloody copy of my
birth certificate, and to part with another $80 for the privilege of accessing MY OWN INFORMATION!
Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot, to assist in the issuance of a new passport on
the same day??
Nooooo... that'd be too bloody easy and makes far too much sense. You would much prefer to have us running all
over the place like chickens with our bloody heads cut off, and then having to find some high society wanker to confirm that it's really me in the goddamn photo! You know the photo..the one where we're not allowed to smile?! ...you bloody morons
Signed - An Irate Australian Citizen.

P.S Remember what I said above about the picture, and getting someone in high-society to confirm that it's me?
Well, my family has been in this country since before 1850!
In 1856, one of my forefathers took up arms with Peter Lalor. (You do remember the Eureka Stockade!!)
I have also served in both the CMF and regular Army something over 30 years (I went to Vietnam in 1967), and
still have high security clearances.
I'm also a personal friend of the president of the RSL.. and Lt General Peter Cosgrove sends me a Christmas card each year.
However, your rules require that I have to get someone 'important' to verify who I am; You know.. someone like my doctor;
WHO WAS BORN AND RAISED IN BLOODY PAKISTAN!!!......a country where they either assassinate or hang
their ex-Prime Ministers, and are suspended from the Commonwealth for not having the 'right sort of government.'
You are all Bloody idiots

Hi Syd

Hope you are a cricket fan

A prostitute, a big Aussie Cricket fan, had a tattoo of Brett Lee and
Shane Warne on the inside of her thighs.

She says to one of her regular customers "If you can guess who they
are you get a free shag".

He looks to the left and then to the right and says "I dunno who those
ugly bastards are but the one in the middle with the fat lips and curly
hair is Andrew Symonds!"

Regards Caveman

Words of Love:


A woman's husband had been slipping in and out of a coma for several months, yet she had stayed by his bedside every single day.

One day, he motioned for her to come nearer. She sat by him.

He whispered, eyes full of tears, 'You know what? You have been with me all through the bad times.

When I got fired, you were there to support me.

When my business failed, you were there.

When I got shot, you were by my side.

When we lost the house, you stayed right here.

When my health started failing, you were still by my side . . .

You know what?'

'What dear?' She gently asked, smiling as her heart began to fill with warmth.

'I think you're bad luck, fuck off!'

No Wonder The Neighbour Fainted!
Joe and John were identical brothers, Joe owned an old clapped out wooden boat and kept pretty much to himself. One day he rented his boat to a group of blokes from out of town who then sank the boat. Joe then spent the next day trying to re float the old craft and salvage his gear and was out of touch with people till late into the evening. Unknown to Joe his brother John's wife died suddenly. When Joe got back to shore he went in to town to get some supplies, a kind old neighbour mistook Joe for John and said," I'm so sorry for your loss, you must feel terrible" Joe,thinking she was talking about the boat said, "Hell no! Fact is I'm sort of glad to be rid of her, she was a rotten old thing from the start, her bottom was all shriveled up and she smelled like rotten fish, she was always holding water, she had a bad crack in the back and a bloody big hole in the front too, every time I used her hole got bigger, and leaked like crazy. I guess what finished her off was when I rented her out to those four blokes, I tried to warn them she was buggered and smelled awful but they wanted her anyway. The silly fools tried to get into her all at the one time and she split right up the middle. That's when the dear old neighbour fainted!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks Syd

Women's Restroom!
When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.
You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR! ), yank down your pants, and assume ' The Stance.'

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold 'The Stance.'

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse. (Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet. 'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT .. It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.'

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.'

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?'

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!

This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so accurately!