“Before the death of my father on february2005 in a private hospital here in Nouadhibou he secretly called me on his bedside and told me that he has 15 TONS DRIED WHALE PENISES and A TEASURE BOX containing his life saving that worth 9.200.00 usd which is now lifted to a prime security vault in Europ, that he used my name as his only son for the depositing of the goods.”

The whale penis question

Our resident palaeontologist, Dr Trev, doesn’t normally interest himself in the penises of whales. They’re a bit too fresh. However, he has agreed to attempt an approximation of how many individuals may have been castrated. The information staff at the whaleweigh station stated that a blue whale has a mass of about 100 tons. As their specimen is female, they couldn’t help with the more intimate question. If anybody happens to know the relevant statistics for a flaccid cetacean member, Trev is itching to be informed. He adds that efficient drying processes should remove around 70% of the weight. If treated to the equivalent of a kippering, then a Balaenoptera musculus would be reduced to a meagre 30 tons.

Update

A colleague states that male blue whales don’t have erections as such. Rather, the organ is stored in a fold in the stomach region, and muscle contractions force it out when required. They suggested a length of up to five metres and a maximum circumference of perhaps half a metre. However, it tapers distally. Despite the stark differences between cetaceans and primates, my secretary, Marquis de Sade VI, has volunteered Napoleon as a guinea pig. The Mrs Willsons will be providing stimulation when we can get him tied up. Should anybody be wondering, his testicles weigh about ten kilos. To avoid confusion, I’m referring to those of a blue whale.

Points to bear in mind

Assessing the weight of Napoleon’s penis for comparative purposes proved problematic, and Marq’s suggested solution would definitely have resulted in flaccidity. He withdrew it when the Mrs Willsons offered to show him why and began fumbling with his dressing gown.
After chewing the subject matter over, Dr Trev provided the following guestimate. He wishes to stress these figures are based on untested assumptions and are very possibly wrong. For example, he’s assumed a uniform circumference of 0.4 metres and allowed a kilo of mass per litre of volume. Normally, he’d use a bit less weight in such calculations, but Trev’s had little experience with fully aquatic penises.

Stage one

As is known to many, the volume of a cylinder can be calculated with πr²h. In this instance height equates to length. We first need to work out the radius. This can be done by dividing the circumference by π and then halving the result. That’s because c=πd and d=2r. Consequently, the radius is about 0.064m.

Stage two

The volume is now easy to deduce; 3.14 x 0.064² x 5 = 0.0643072m³. Multiplying by a thousand produces 64.3 litres.

Stage three

Bearing in mind the assumption of a kilo of mass for each litre, the dried weight can be calculated by extracting the water, which presumably accounts for something like 70% of the organism. 64.3 x 30% yields 19.29 kilos of material. As the process may have been less than perfect, we may as well call it 20 for convenience. If each castration resulted in 20 kilos, it follows that 50 blue whales would be required for a ton.

Results

Assuming blue whales were the source (which is improbable given their scarcity and the lack of a whaling industry in West Africa), then the pile of penises appear to represent about 750 individuals.

Author: Trevor Dykes

T D Dykes: putting the in before sanity.

Dr Trevor Dykes, aged 42.09, is a starving humorist slaving away to almost universal indifference in the comedy mines of Franconia. Born in Bournemouth, he emigrated to Germany in 1992 to loud cries of Bon Voyage, relief and good riddance. He earned his Doctorate in Humour from the University Collage of Dipwytch, Dorset by paying fifty pounds. His special areas of study include: sleeping, West African e-mail fraud, mammals and near-mammals of the Mesozoic and the virtual village of Dipwytch. More on those themes can be learned later, so you have been warned.

This is Dipwytch!
News and views frum virtual Dorset (via Franconia)...

“Life in the fast lane”
Any stretch of road that has fewer than 10 wagon-and-horses on it.

“The meaning of life”
Never crossing a zebra crossing.

“The specialist”
Anyone, as long as they’ve got a screwdriver.

“The meaning of a troglodyte”
Have you seen Romanian men?

“Driving skills”
Yeah, right!! I think the second definition above gives a good indication of the driving mentality.

“Good food and drink”
Can you tell me where to get some? The local idea of good drink is “Balinka”. I run my car on it, and it’s brilliant at removing stains that don’t come out in the wash.

Not to say that life here is all bad, that’s to say I must be able to find something good. Oh yes, nice mountains and it’s cheap. Steady! I’m getting over-stimulated. I’m sure that someone in the UK is having a good laugh after spiking my drink all those months ago when I thought of this great idea – LET’S MOVE TO ROMANIA!

Author: Alex Campbell

If you'd like to visit Alex Campbell's B&B in Romania you can find out more here: http://www.romaniabedandbreakfast.eu

He thinks that Neil Armstrong is just a big fake
And his walk on the moon wasn’t true
His step for mankind and the claim that he staked
Was faked to fool me and you.

Well if Dave Hook is right, it was all a big sting
And they faked that moon walk back in time
Then maybe some other historical things
Were brilliantly faked down the line.

Maybe Roger Bannister took more than four minutes
‘Cause the time keeper’s watch was too slow
And Elvis is alive and living in Graceland
And Jack the Ripper’s still living in Bow.

We didn’t beat the Germans in the ‘66 Cup
And Pele just didn’t like soccer
Baryshnikov and Nureyev just couldn’t dance
And Charles is Prince of the rockers.

And OJ was practising his swing at the time
While Nichole was killed by a stranger
Donald Trump is only worth nickels and dimes
And Tonto shot the Lone Ranger.

The Weapons Inspectors found WMAs
Michael Jackson is not really black
And it isn’t a nose job, not no how, no way -
Does anyone here believe that?

They say Mr Ali was not a good fighter
Ol’ Blue Eyes not much of a singer
Eat Yorkshire Pudding, it’ll make you much lighter
And dumplings will make you much slimmer.

In closing, I hope that you won’t take offence
And let me come back to your site
Only time will tell if these things are all true
Or Dave’s theory is wrong or it’s right.

And if it’s all true and you make me eat crow
I’ll apologise now for my doubts
But don’t hold your breath, there’s a long way to go
So I’m not drinking tea from his spout.

That grainy footage shown on TV
At one time actually convinced me
But how do we really know?
Because Walter Cronkite told us so?

I say:

No man has ever walked on the moon
Now before you dismiss me as a loon
Listen to the facts and you may even find
A story that just might change your mind

You see it all started back in ‘62
JFK told the people what he would do
Put a man on the moon by the decade’s end
Land, and bring them safely home again

He was a great speaker we all know
And he even banged Marilyn Monroe,
He was also just a politician,
But Jack knew Jack Shit
about the complexities of any space mission

Now NASA had to get their ass in gear
And suddenly their hearts were full of fear
The Russians were way ahead of them in the space race
Now Kennedy was setting them all up for disgrace

Their funding stood at about a couple BILL
Would not admit defeat, and never will

So they said:

If we can’t make it, then we’ll fake it
If we can’t do it, then screw it
We’ll film it in the desert, or on a sound stage
And put it on the TV and the front page
We’ll shoot it all in black and white
Even though we got a color camera on the flight

We’ll bring jeeps, but bring no telescopes?

We’ll hit some golf balls all around,
Then stick a flag into the ground

That should be enough for the boob tube watching dopes

There are dangers about space travel most don’t know
Radiation gets more intense the farther out you go
It starts at about 1,000 miles out
Go farther than that and die, there’s no doubt

Unless you shield yourself with 8 feet of lead
Any less than that, and surely you’d be dead
But to build a ship like that, why even try?
It would be much too heavy to ever fly

Kennedy thought this was plausible

NASA knew it was impossible

But they still wanted to get paid

So they said to themselves:

If we can’t make it, then we’ll fake it
If we can’t do it, then screw it
We’ll film it in the desert, or on a sound stage
And put it on the TV and the front page

We’ll bring extra lighting just for fun
Even though the only light source is the sun

But we need them for the photos we’re going to take

No photos of stars or other stuff,
Some young astronomer may call our bluff

It never can come out it all was fake

’cause it’s much too dangerous to really go,
On live TV? I don’t effing think so
We’ll tape the whole thing in advance
For an unhappy ending we can not take the chance

3 dead astroNOTS would not boost morale
And anyway we’ll be long dead before they cry foul
We’ll show them some meteors we found on earth if they want proof
When you control the media you control the truth

Full body photos of Neil on the moon, there are only two
And he has never ever granted an interview
But this does not leave me too surprised
Ask him no questions, and he’ll tell you no lies

He knows

They couldn’t make it, so they faked it
They couldn’t do it, and said, “Screw it”
They filmed it in the desert on a sound stage
And put it on the TV and the front page

Sent a satellite feed of their con
To a few on the ground who knew what was going on

Then beamed it out to all the excited folks

They were never 250,000 miles away
George Bush says we’re going back some day:

But the first time around it was a hoax

They slowed the film, and hid the wires
Very very clever liars,

But

The first time around it was a hoax

Dave Hook
Copyright © 2004 LIFEICIENCY website [down since about 2006]

One day I took my life in my hands and headed for the bright lights of England’s fair capital. Here are a few pointers to any of you brave souls who may be thinking of doing the same.

Some useful phrases are included for our colonial friends…

1. The Train

If you are planning to tour round the city for the day, make sure and buy a One Day Capital Card – advertised by British Rail as “Half train, half tube, half bus!” Err?? This gives you free unlimited travel on the trains, buses and tubes………. What it doesn’t guarantee you is a SEAT on any of these forms of transport – be prepared for some serious WALKING!

2. The Station

When you arrive (at last) at the London termini, fight your way through the crowds, holding very tight to whatever you’re carrying – pickpockets are everywhere – to the Tube station. Wow! What an exciting place – thousands of people milling around, none, it seems, knowing where they are going! Bit like the Houses of Parliament!

The route maps are really useful – if you can read them through all the graffiti! Having ascertained the line you need to get on, fight your way to the automatic ticket barriers, then spend five minutes extracting your wallet from the hidden recesses of your anti pick-pocket coat to get your ticket out to open the barrier – ignore frosty glares and rude comments from the assorted fellow travellers (who always seem to carry their tickets in their hands; must be locals).

3. The Tube

Having avoided the assorted buskers, riff raff and beggars (don’t give them money – most of them are professionals, earning more than I do!) you find yourself on the platform – usually the wrong one! Retrace your steps and then emerge on the right one. The gale-force wind and the sound like the gates of Hades being opened signify that “The Train” is coming.

Prepare yourself at this point for the rigours to come! When the train arrives try to ingratiate yourself with those already crammed on it to actually let you in the door – not always easy when a) half of them don’t speak English, and b) the ones that do are too belligerent to move, somehow, further back to let you get on! Make sure you avoid “The Gap”. This is a strange phenomenon found only at London Tube stations – it comes from having station platforms and trains which seem to have been built for two totally different countries. Having extricated your leg (minus shoe) from “The Gap” you find that some other misguided soul has filled the small hole you had managed to get for yourself in the melee of bodies in the train and the doors are shutting to the quaint call from the station staff of “Mind the bloody doors, you idiot!”

Things are even worse when you finally get on the train and it gets to your destination, which if it is more than two stops on from your start usually means that you have been pushed halfway down the carriage and have to fight through all the bodies to reach the doors. Five stations past your stop you have finally reached the door and manage to squeeze off – remembering to “Mind the Gap” as you disembark.

Repeat procedure in opposite direction until you finally reach the correct station. Now, a tip for the timid (remembering the slight upset at the automatic barriers): extricate your ticket from the hidden recesses of your coat whilst on the escalator on the way up. Don’t drop your wallet! When you go through the barrier remember to collect your ticket from the machine! Having forgotten to do so, fight your way back through the crowd and search for ticket (which some kind soul has discarded conveniently for you on the floor of the station with the other 500!)

Well, you are finally there! Well done!

And now some of the sights seen on my recent visit …

4. The Sights

Check out the new cyber café Cyberia (39 Whitfield Street, just off the Tottenham Court Road) – great atmosphere AND dozens of Pentium computers all connected up to full access to the Net. A cool, “happening” place – that’s what the brochure says! It’s good fun, but at £1.50 for a cappuccino a little expensive! You can hang out as long as you like, chatting to people from the Net Culture, as long as you don’t drink too much coffee!

From here it is just a short walk to Covent Garden – a must if you like “Alternative Shopping”. If you ever have a strange desire for a clock made out of scrap metal or earrings made out of (I hate to think!) this is the place to go! Street entertainers abound so a good place for “people watching”. Sit awhile in the wonderful ambience and listen to the string quartet playing in the lower level. Enjoy the sights and sounds as some drunken slob pukes in front of you! Wonderful place!

After a brief respite, having checked out the “Vegetarian Non-Bacon Bacon Roll” – the new gastronomic sensation of the capital – we move on…

Leaving Covent Garden, we browse through the multitude of bookshops heading for Leicester Square, another “Happening Place” – it says here! Not much “happening” when I was there!

Now, as all good shopaholics know the place to be is Oxford Street – OK, with London A-Z in hand I thought “I know, I’ll just cut up here and that will bring me out at Mecca!” What the London A-Z doesn’t tell you is how to mapread! We find ourselves in Trafalgar Square! “How the hell did I get here?” I think to myself. Oh well, whilst in Trafalgar square check out St Martin’s in the Fields – where the hell are the fields anyhow?? – Nelson’s Column and, of course, the pigeons! N.B. – Whilst at the tube station, stop at one of the handy shops and buy a pack of travel tissues – you just KNOW they’ll come in handy! Now, what do you do when a pigeon craps on your head in London? No, I didn’t know either! Having forgotten to buy that handy little pack of travel tissues, I was rather in a quandary! Having finally, I thought, cleaned the effluent off my head I proceeded to make for Oxford Street.

Now, the other thing the London A-Z doesn’t tell you are the streets to avoid – I should have realised something was not as I’m used to when I passed the first “Video Shop”. “What friendly people,” I thought as I passed all these nice smiling young ladies! “Must be the ‘Eau de Pigeon’ which is doing it!” *Heh heh* How was I to know I’d wandered into Sleaze City? Eh?

I first started to realise something was not quite right when this big black momma invited me to stop a while and visit her “massage parlour”. Now, strange as some of you may think, knowing me, I declined the “lady’s” offer, and went on my way – with her rejoinder still ringing in my ears – “Hey, Honky does yous know yous got pigeon shit in your hair?”

My, what sights there are to see. I didn’t know about these places! There seemed to be everything imaginable (and probably unimaginable) catered for in the quarter square mile – the mind boggles! Even the phone boxes are very entertaining! There are literally hundreds of “business” cards in each phone box! All the world is here: French polishing! School Boy Correction (huh?) and the number of 19-year-old virgins concentrated in one place are quite remarkable!

Still, I had to move on to the delights of Oxford Street. Now, the words “Shop till you drop” spring to mind as you set foot in this shopaholic’s paradise – if you want to buy it, it’s here! I won’t bore you with the shopping, except for my foray into the twilight world of lingerie buying! *Ahem* – I thought I was back in “Sleaze City” as I trundled round Selfridges’ Lingerie Dept.

There seemed to be a lot of middle-aged men in raincoats skulking in the shadows, no wonder I stood out! As I perused the wares I got the distinct uneasy feeling of being a dirty old man. The truth finally dawned… I am a dirty old man! – Sorry, I digress! Taking my purchases to the counter, I felt like I was 16 again buying some condoms in Boots (the chemist). Why do they always put the pretty young things on these counters? Red-faced I scuttled off, leaving the shadowy figures feeling the silk!

Once more I hit the street. Now, Oxford Street is VERY long, and you will find many varieties of busker along this boulevard. Those worthy of mention include: “Colonel Mustard”, a ninety-year-old tap dancer! “Don’t Laugh”, his sign said – I’m afraid I had to! There was a Scotsman in full traditional dress killing a cat. Well, that’s what it sounded like! In fact he was attempting to play the bagpipes – very badly, no wonder there was no money in his hat! The busker of the day, who I don’t think was taking it very seriously, seeing as he was totally drunk! was “George” who was sitting on an upturned milk crate attempting to play the mouth organ AND the spoons at the SAME time, an impossible thing to do when stone cold sober! Totally impossible when blind drunk! – He was soooo funny I just had to give him some change!

Now any trip to London would not be complete without a trip to Harrods, so armed with my trusty A-Z and a maniacal gleam in my eye, I set off for Knightsbridge. Harrods was entertaining in a window-shopping sort of way – there is NO WAY I could afford to shop there! Well, by this time I was flagging so I thought I ‘d pop into the refreshment bar for a sit down, and a fresh orange juice. – My bum never even warmed the seat! £5 for an orange juice! No way, José!

“Time for home,” I decided!

If only I could find my train ticket…

“Dorothy! Wake up!”…….”Oh, Aunty, I have just had the strangest dream………..”

© Squiffy’s House of Fun. No reproduction without permission