"Woooohooo!!!! That's great sweetie" he replies. "Do I pack for the beach or the mountains?"
"Who cares", she replies, "Just LEAVE”
Jake was dying. His wife, Becky, was maintaining candlelight vigil by his side. She held his fragile hand, tears running down her face. Her praying roused him from his slumber.
He looked up and his pale lips began to move slightly, "My darling Becky," he whispered.
"Hush, my love," she said. "Rest. Shhh, don't talk."
He was insistent. "Becky," he said in his tired voice, "I have something I must confess to you."
"There's nothing to confess," replied the weeping Becky. "Everything's all right. Go to sleep."
"No, no, I must die in peace, Becky. I slept with your sister, your best friend, her best friend, and your mother!"
"I know," Becky whispered softly. "That's why I poisoned you."
The Land Down-under
WE, the people of the broad brown Land of Oz, wish to be recognized as a free nation of blokes, and Sheila’s... We come from many lands (although a few too many of us come from
We are One Nation but we're divided into eight States/Territories.
New South Wales (NSW), the realm of pastel shorts, macchiato with sugar, thin books read quickly and millions of dancing queens. Its capital
We, the citizens of Oz, are united by the
We are united in our lust for international recognition, so desperate for praise we leap in joy when a ragtag gaggle of corrupt IOC officials tells us
We are united by a democracy so flawed that a political party, albeit a redneck gun-toting one, can get a million votes and still not win one seat in Federal Parliament while bloody Brian Harradine can get 24,000 votes and run the whole country.
Not that we're whingeing, we leave that to our Pommy immigrants.
We want to make "no worries mate" our national phrase, "she'll be right mate" our national attitude, and "Waltzing Matilda" our national anthem (so what if it's about a sheep-stealing crim who commits suicide).
We love sport so much our newsreaders can read the death toll from a sailing race and still tell us who's winning in the same breath.
And we're the best in the world at all the sports that count, like cricket, netball, rugby, AFL, roo-shooting, two-up and horse racing.
We also have the biggest rock, the tastiest pies, the blackest aborigines and the worst-dressed Olympians in the known universe.
We shoot, we root, we vote. We are girt by sea and pissed by lunchtime.
And even though we might seem a racist, closed-minded, sports-obsessed little people, at least we're better than the Kiwis.
Please don't let this deter any potential visitors Some of it is only in fun.