Posts Tagged ‘Funny’

A builder living in Edinburgh scared the hell of a burglar trying to break in to his house by running at him dressed up as the Norse god Thor.

The bloke, Torvaled Alexander, was dressed up in a silver helmet and breastplate made of tinfoil (what else) resplendent in a red cape.

Mr Alexander had just returned from a new year’s fancy dress party when he discovered the startled burglar in his house trying to steal stuff. He ran at full speed screaming at the burglar who promptly turned and fled, leaping out of Mr Alexander’s 1st floor window.

Mr Alexander, 39, said: “We were both startled but then the instant reaction was that I ran at him and he just jumped straight out of the window.

“I think I would be quite scared if someone looking almost like a gladiator ran at them.

“He might have thought the property was empty.

“He probably would not have expected to meet a strong builder, especially dressed in tinfoil and silver.”

The rubbish burglar didn’t manage to steal anything but actually left his shoes and the garden fork he used to break in to the property behind.

The burglar landed ion a pitched roof below the window – breaking his fall – and made his escape.

Mr Alexander dressed as Thor not in honour of his Norwegian roots, but because of the Marvel comic book series.

He crafted his costume by himself using massive quantities of the shiny foil more often used for baking frozen goods.

The Norse believed that Thor rode his chariot through the heavens when a thunderstorm took place, pulled by two goats.

His hammer, Mjollnir, caused lightening to flash every time he threw it, and like a boomerang, it returned to him every time. He is generally considered to be a large, powerful chap with eyes of lightening and a big red beard.

So far Mr Alexander has not reported the incident to the police, and the (scaredy) cat burglar has not been caught.

In equally related and equally dumb news, a burglar in Chicago has helped the FBI by writing his threatening note to a bank teller on his pay slip.

The man walked in the Fifth Third Bank on Friday and handed the back teller a note that read “Be Quick be Quit. Give your cash or I’ll shoot.” It’s safe to assume that he meant to write, “Be quite”, stated the FBI’s affidavit.

The robber got away with $400, but left part of the note at the scene, with the other half left outside the banks front doors. The FBI say the man’s name and address were on his October pay slip, so they went to his house, and promptly arrested the fool.

He’s now looking at a 20 year sentence if convicted.

On Saturday over 14 million viewers tuned in to watch Alexandra Burke destroy the competition in an X-Factor that had it all…again…

Burke is a phenomenal talent, showcased by going toe to toe with the legend that is Beyonce. As Cheryl Cole said, it was amazing that she could even utter a note.

So I have to admit to being massively impressed, as she blew away JLS and the Quiglett with one great performance after the other. She may have won, but does she have the “X-Factor”? Well bejewelled old grump Elton John has had a foul mouthed tirade at the shows credentials – even though he is due to duet with Alexandra on New Years Eve.

The ever colourful Elton was playing at a concert in the 2 Area on Saturday night – while the hit TV show was on TV. He thanked the 20,000 strong audience for coming to watch him rather than sitting at home watching the show, adding that  he would rather have his “c**k bitten off by an Alsatian” than watch the X Factor. Crumbs!

Brilliantly as the concert ended an announcement came over the tannoy in the area talking about Elton’s duet with Burke. Meanwhile, Elton presumably sat in his dressing room with his foot firmly in his mouth.

This is not the first time he’s had a go at the yearly TV show as two years ago, he said: “The X Factor is a cruise ship show. I’ve got nothing against the people who go on - good luck to them. But I hate how they’re treated.

“They’re given an awful sense of stardom and pressure straight away but they’re only successful until the next series.

“The record companies sell a lot of records and those people are gone. It’s f***ing cruel.”

He is right though. I can’t actually tell you who the winner was in the first series, or the second or the third. I know that a Scottish guy won last year, but I think I’ve seen him once on TV since his win. This show does give the contestants a taste of fame, but you’d have to be really groundbreaking to have any last-ability – the fact that they always release a cheesy cover right before Xmas pretty much grinds my gears.

They get shipped about in limos, and get to play god gigs, but do they pocket the cash? Not according to the leaked contract that was published a week or so ago. They only get a tiny portion of the cash, and have to pay all their expenses out of it. And the guy pocketing all the money? The Stupid haired, high-waisted trouser wearing Simon Cowell. And in all honesty, fair play to the man. He’s had a great idea for a show, and all he has to do is slag people off for 99 percent of the show, before turning in to Mr Nice Guy for the final.

Congratulations to Alexandra, and good luck with Elton John, and well done to those attending the new year celebration in London – looks like you’ll get some extra  fireworks.

Well today I’m Joe fans, I feel ill as can be. Proper man-flu. There’s only one good thing about man-flu, and that is the fact that everything you achieve makes you feel heroic (in-between the bouts of vomiting).

I made a sandwich for work today, and I swear I could hear Enrique Inglasis singing “I could be your hero baby”, and I thought…’hell yeah I can’, then I thought ‘sandwich: I’ll be your hero, until I eat you’ – which rather impressively (as the thought of food currently repulses me) is still alive in the works fridge (along with some kind of mouldy bread, a fork and some cheese cunningly disguised as milk.

I then got driven by the misuses (heroically might I say) to work, where I heroically turned on my PC, heroically started my work, then heroically (and I mean that in every sense of the word) drank a cup of tea from the works kettle.

Do not take this post as a desperate hunt for sympathy (however, any cups of tea would be appreciated), as shall be heading what must certainly be my death bed…how do I know? That’s easy:

Runny nose – check
Sore throat – check
Dry Eyes – check
Heroic death from man-flu – check

The funny thing about feeling ill is this. When a girl feels unwell, guys fall over themselves to make sure that her pillow is puffed up, she has plenty of tissues, and that she gets cups of tea on demand. When an average Joe feels ill/is dying from a bout of severe man-flu, does he get support from girls? Does he hell! You see they only give you enough help for a moderate/girly cold, but only men understand the urgency of full blown man-flu, or to give its full medical term, ohmygodimgoingtodiefromthissniffle-itus.

So Joe fans, its been a tough summer, and I think its going to be a tough winter for us men, just remember these three tips for survival.

1. Do not EVER let your missus place her cold feet on yours in the middle of the night because you’re “cosy”. The effect could turn YOU in to the one who is cold.

2. Playing football the night before will NOT help you sweat a cold out. It’s a stupid myth, that as you may have guessed I tried and failed at last night.

3. If you think the end is coming. DON’T FOLLOW THE LIGHT. We all know how sensitive our eyesy-wyses are when we have the flu that is man.

Good luck men. We’ll need it.

When I was about fourteen I was at the stage of wanting to get involved in everything my dad did from washing the car to putting a shelf up, to emptying the garage, and putting it all back in again – a concept I never fully understood as a child, but one I grew to understand as I got older. Its difficult throwing stuff in the bin, because you convince yourself that it’ll “come in handy one day”.

One time when helping my dad empty junk from the garage, he decided that so it had to go to the rubbish tip/junk yard, so off we went with a trailer full of bits of wood, scrap metal and other random stuff. We got to the place, and we started chucking all this junk in to the giant skips, much fun was had – its odd how chucking stuff in a big bucket is fun, but I digress.

We were reaching the bottom of the trailer, so – in my fourteen year old wisdom – grabbed the side and jumped into the back of the trailer at full speed, I grabbed a couple of bits of wood and chucked them over, then went for the last bit, I grabbed it and it wouldn’t lift up. ‘That’s weird’ I remember thinking, then I noticed I was standing on it, ‘that explains it’, I said to myself…then as realisation kicked in, my brain started doing overtime, a shooting pain flew up my leg and blew my skull off, as I realised that I’d jumped full for on to a plank of wood with three inches of nail in it. Bugger.

It was probably the worst thing I’d ever felt. The blasted nail had pierced right through my trainers, and in to my heel, where I honestly thought it had embedded itself in my ankle bone. I tried to suck it up, as a weird mix of adrenaline and fear took over. It may sound stupid, but out of a million thoughts I was having, the first one was that I had ruined my trainers.

With the (about 2ft long) plank firmly attached to my foot, my dad had to lift me out of the trailer (thank god the cool girls from school didn’t hang about the rubbish tip – my stupid mind was now thinking), and bundled me into the car. Dad decided that the best thing to do was to just pull it out on the count of three… I remember it well…

Dad: “one, two, the…”
Me: “whoah, whoah, whoah…ok just do it”
Dad: “one,two, the…”
Me: “whoah, whoah, whoah…”
Dad: “one…”

And then he pulled it, apparently I went quite green, but otherwise I was ok. The nail was a beast, and I still have it kicking about as a memento of the worst thing of that year. On the way home, I was bought a plaster and a Caramac (hands up if you remember those) which I later learned was a bargaining chip to “NEVER tell mum that you stood on a nail, because she’ll kill me for letting you jump in the trailer”.

And remarkably, 14 years on, I never have. Unless she reads this. Sorry dad.