Friday, October 8, 2021



During the week, Byter Steve M sent me an email inviting me to come up with a limerick about a particular matter after I posted an item in Bytes. More about that below.

My point in mentioning it now is that it also sets the theme for some of the humour this Funny Friday . . . poetry and poets.

We poets are the music makers, the dreamers of dreams. We are the conscience of the world, the last of the romantics and the heart of society. Wandering by lone sea-breakers, sitting by desolate streams. . .

Here is a poem to whet your appetite . . . but be advised that risque content follows . . . 



If Dr. Seuss wrote instruction manuals.

If a packet hits a pocket on a socket on a port,
and the bus is interrupted as a very last resort,
and the address of the memory makes your floppy disk abort,
then the socket packet pocket has an error to report.

If your cursor finds a menu item followed by a dash,
and the double-clicking icon puts your window in the trash,
and your data is corrupted 'cause the index ain't gonna hash,
then your situation's hopeless and your system's gonna crash!

If the label on the cable on the table at your house,
says the network is connected to the button on your mouse,
but your packets want to tunnel on another protocol,
that's repeatedly rejected by the printer down the hall,
and your screen is all distorted by the side effects of gauss,
so your icons in the window are as wavy as a souse,
then you may as well reboot and go out with a bang,
'cause as sure as I'm a poet, the sucker's gonna hang!

When the copy of your floppy's getting sloppy on the disk,
And the microcode instructions cause unnecessary RISC,
Then you have to flash your memory and you'll want to RAM your ROM
Quickly turn off the computer and be sure to tell your mom!

I went to the acupuncturist the other day.

When I got home my voodoo doll was dead

Joe Biden walks into a bank to cash a check. As he approaches the cashier he says, "Good morning, Miss, could you please cash this check for me?"

Cashier: "It would be my pleasure. Could you please show me your ID?"

Biden: "Truthfully, I did not bring my ID with me as I didn't think there was any need to. I am Joe Biden, the President.”

Cashier: "Yes, I know who you are, but with all the regulations and monitoring of the banks because of impostors and forgers and requirements of the legislation, etc., I must insist on seeing ID."

Biden: Just ask anyone here at the bank who I am and they will tell you. Everybody knows who I am."

Cashier: "I am sorry, Mr Biden, but these are the bank rules and I must follow them."

Biden: "Come on please, I am urging you, please cash this check."

Cashier: "Look sir, here is an example of what we can do. One day, Tiger Woods came into the bank without ID. To prove he was Tiger Woods he pulled out his putter and made a beautiful shot across the bank into a cup. With that shot we knew him to be Tiger Woods and cashed his check."

"Another time, Andre Agassi came in without ID. He pulled out his tennis racket and made a fabulous shot where the tennis ball landed in my cup. With that shot we cashed his check. So, sir, what can you do to prove that it is you and only you?"

Biden stands there thinking and thinking and finally says, "Honestly, my mind is a total blank...there is nothing that comes to my mind. I can't think of a single thing. I have absolutely no idea what to do. I don't have a clue."

Cashier: “That will do, will that be large or small notes, Mr Biden?”

Airborne less than 30 minutes on an outbound evening flight, the lead flight attendant nervously made the following painful announcement:

Ladies and gentleman, I'm so very sorry but it appears that there has been a terrible last minute error by our airport catering service. I don't know how this has happened but we have 103 passengers on board and, unfortunately, only 40 dinner meals. I truly apologize for this mistake and inconvenience.

When the passenger muttering has died down, she continued, "Anyone who is kind enough to give up their meal so that someone else can eat will receive free, unlimited drinks for the duration of our flight."

Her next announcement came 90 minutes later.

"If anyone would like to change their minds, we still have 40 dinners available."

What's the difference between a chick pea and a garbanzo bean?

I've never had a garbanzo bean on my chest.


An old farmer was worried about his favourite bull, it was ignoring the cows. So he went to the vet and got some medicine. Next day he was telling a neighbour about it. 'I gave that Brahmin of mine one dose and within half an hour he had serviced eight cows.'

'Blimey,’ said the neighbour, 'what's the stuff called?'

'Well, the label’s come off the bottle,' said the farmer, ‘but it tastes like peppermint'.



Last week I posted some reminiscences by Philip C and myself about childhood, prompted mainly about forgotten words, expressions, devices and procedures, notably the outside toilet and the “dunny man”.

It prompted Steve M to send me an email:
A wonderful Bytes today Otto.

Having never grown up in Australia, I truly enjoyed your and Philip’s reminiscences.

The good old days... when it was safe to stay out until dark...

If you have time, can you write a limerick or bush poem about ‘the good old days’?
Here it is Steve . . .

We nearly all think our childhood not bad,
Good days, school, home, Mum and Dad,
But thoughts of our youth
Often distort the truth
The mind filters out the crap and the sad.







A young man was in love with two women and could not decide which of them to marry. Finally he went to a marriage counselor. When asked to describe his two loves, he noted that one was a great poet and the other made delicious pancakes...

"Oh." said the counsellor. "I see what the problem is. You can't decide whether to marry for batter or verse."

Did you hear about the Japanese poet who smoked a boatload of opium and overthrew the shogun?

They called it a high coup.

What do "I'm pregnant", "we're pregnant" and "she's pregnant" have in common?

They all have contractions.

I just finished reading a book by a group of amateur poets...

The poems aren’t bad, but you can tell they’re not prose.

An abortion clinic opened in our town.

It’s called Don’t Kid Yourself.


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