Parking ones car in any town centre has been for many a leap year, a most laborious affair. Traffic wardens and police are the bane of our society and are merely instruments of an unscrupulous government to accrue indirect taxation from the motorist. We must fight back! I started the battle last week whilst visiting Manchester city centre. I was only in a shop for about two minutes. When I came out, there he was, writing out a parking ticket. I went up to him and said, “Come on man, how about giving a hardworking citizen a break?” He ignored me completely and continued writing the ticket. I said he was a traitor to his fellow Mancunians and had taken the council shilling and consequently betrayed his fellow man. This cut no ice with him, and he just glared at me and started writing another ticket for having worn tyres. So I called him a ‘bozo’. He finished the second ticket and put it on the windscreen with the first. I asked him if he had been a member of the Third Reich and enquired if he had he been chucked out of the Gestapo for cruelty. He then commenced writing a third ticket. This went on for about ten minutes. The more I verbally abused him, the more tickets he wrote. Personally, I didn’t give a rats hoo-ha, because I had come into town on the train!
A young diehard Manchester City fan, who also happened to be a devout Catholic, went to Rome with his mum. His big desire was to speak personally with the Pope. His mum told him that the His Holiness will be doing a small tour around Rome in the Pope mobile the very next morning and that he should wear his Man City shirt as the Pope is a big football fan and might stop to talk to him if he sees his football shirt. Next morning the lad is decked out in his sky blue shirt and gets a place right at the front of the crowd. As the Pope mobile approaches it slows down and his heart starts to pound, but his excitement turns to dismay as it passes. The dismay turns to despair as the Pope mobile stops further down and the Pope gets out and talks to a young lad in a Manchester United shirt. The City lad, overcome with grief goes back to his hotel with his mum and was inconsolable and wept buckets all night long. Upon awakening the following morning he was most horrified and taken aback to see a United shirt on the end of his bed. His mum comes in the room and says that he should wear it when the Pope does his tour of the city that day, to catch his attention, as he obviously knows United from their European exploits. The boy remonstrates and says he could never wear a United shirt, but eventually his mum convinces him it is the best way to get to speak to the Pope. So sure enough the boy wears the shirt and pushes his way to the front of the crowd once again. This time as the Pope mobile approaches his heart pounds as it slows down, and this time stops. The Pope gets out and approaches him, puts his hand on the lad’s shoulder and sez, "I thought I told you yesterday, sod off back to London."
A scallywag robbed a bank and took several hostages. He asks the first hostage if he saw him rob the bank. The fella answered "yes." So the robber shot him. He then asked the second hostage if he saw him rob the bank. The hostage answered "yes."
So the bank robber shot him too. He asked the third hostage if he saw him rob the bank. The hostage answered, "No, but my wife did."
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