Q.how do you know a trains been passed your stop

A. it left some tracks

Irish Declare War On France

The French President, is sitting in his office when his telephone rings.

"Hallo, Mr. Sarkozy!" a heavily accented voice said. "This is Paddy down at the Harp Pub in County Clare, Ireland. I am ringing to inform you that we are officially declaring war on you!"

"Well, Paddy," Sarkozy replied, "This is indeed important news! How big is your army?"

"Right now," says Paddy, after a moment's calculation, "there is meself, me cousin Sean, me next door neighbour Seamus, and the entire darts team from the pub. That makes eight!"

Sarkozy paused. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100,000 men in my army waiting to move on my command."

"Begoora!" says Paddy. "I'll have to ring you back."

Sure enough, the next day, Paddy calls again. "Mr. Sarkozy, the war is still on. We have managed to get us some infantry equipment!"

"And what equipment would that be Paddy?" Sarkozy asks.

"Well, we have two combines, a bulldozer, and Murphy's farm tractor."

Sarkozy sighs amused. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 6,000 tanks and 5,000 armored personnel carriers. Also, I have increased my army to 150,000 since we last spoke."

"Saints preserve us!" says Paddy. "I'll have to get back to you."

Sure enough, Paddy rings again the next day. "Mr. Sarkozy, the war is still on! We have managed to get ourselves airborne! We have modified Jackie McLaughlin's ultra-light with a couple of shotguns in the cockpit, and four boys from the Shamrock Bar have joined us as well!"

Sarkozy was silent for a minute and then cleared his throat. "I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100 bombers and 200 fighter planes. My military bases are surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. And since we last spoke, I have increased my army to 200,000!"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" says Paddy, "I will have to ring you back."

Sure enough, Paddy calls again the next day. "Top o' the mornin', Mr. Sarkozy! I am sorry to inform you that we have had to call off the war."

"Really? I am sorry to hear that," says Sarkozy. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Well," says Paddy, "we had a long chat over a few pints of Guinness, and we decided there is no fookin' way we can feed 200,000 prisoners.

http://fishwrecked.com/files/Girl_with_tattoo.jpg

in which way is that 'better' ???

Ah, Tit Monday. It's not that far off now...

That glorious day when, heading into work on the bus, or walking to the station, or sitting on the tram, you find yourself suddenly chirpier than you have been in months. You find yourself smiling at strangers again. There is a mild involuntary tumescence in your trousers that comes and goes throughout the morning with the comforting regularity of a heartbeat.

And then you get a text around lunchtime from a mate which says: "At last, Tit Monday!" And you instantly understand why you are so happy. For Tit Monday is that special day in the year when, for the first time, the temperature rises above that magical point which causes girls getting dressed in the morning to decide to show a bit of skin.

After months of dull colours and chunky knit, the girls of Melbourne suddenly dive into last summer's wardrobe (they've not had chance to buy this season's stuff) and chuck it on without a thought. Your urban jungle is suddenly lightened with acres of naked arm and leg and, after many dark months of burrowing, breasts rising to the surface like moles at dusk.

Big breasts in white work shirts straining at the buttons. Small breasts braless in SUPRÉ tops, the nipples frotted by clingy fabrics. Breasts in summer dresses bouncing down the stairs at Flinders Street Station so that they catch your eye before you even notice there is someone wearing them. Breasts nudging out from the crowd at traffic islands, quivering across Federation Square.

And you know it is nearly summer. For previous generations, the arrival of spring was heralded by horse racing carnival or the sound of the first cuckoo …….. For us, it is Tit Monday.

Not that it always falls on a Monday. Like Easter, Tit Monday is a moveable feast. Last year it fell on a Friday. Friday 12 September,  to be precise, when temperatures peaked at 24.9C after nothing much above 16 C since May.  It last fell on a Monday in 2005, when temperatures leapt to 22C on 26th September.

And then, of course, there is Tit Monday Night. You see, in late spring and early summer, temperatures drop off very dramatically when night falls (Tit Friday 2005 dropped away to a parky 11.8C). But the dollies are not prepared. Slightly stunned by the morning heat, they drag out the summer clothes but forget to bring a cardie (a mistake they will not make again until next year), so that when they're all standing outside Transport Bar after work celebrating the arrival of spring, their barely covered nipples have no protection from the cold. It's like a Show and Tell where everyone has brought hat pegs. It's like a carols by candlelight, but instead of candles, everyone is holding up nipples.

So when will Tit Monday fall this year? Will you be the first to text your mates with the announcement? Do not shoot your bolt too early. There will be false starts. You will smell fresh cut grass and see a couple of early starters and feel compelled to declare Tit Monday. But your more level-headed friends will tell you to hold your horses, keep your powder dry, don't fire until you see the whites of their bra straps.