Of all the places in the world that should never be affected by fire, it would have to be a factory that manufactures fire extinguishers. But it happened. On 19 March 2015, a factory in Chicago that manufactured chemicals for use in fire extinguishers was totally destroyed in an enormous inferno. The extra-alarm fire started soon after 9:00pm in the industrial building on W 38th Street in Chicago’s Archer Heights area. It was consumed in flames in about 30 minutes.
It took the 150-plus firefighters who arrived at the fire almost three hours to extinguish the blaze. The teams had to execute an "inline operation" because they had trouble getting enough water to the building because there weren't enough hydrants. It required six trucks spread out over a mile to be linked by hoses to water pipes. The tall flames from the fire could be seen from miles around and the dense black smoke engulfed a highway near the scene. The building's roof collapsed due to the fire, leaving it irreparable.
It's akin to a water reservoir catching fire and burning to the ground. It would be interesting to see the insurance claim and hear the explanation as to how a factory that made fire extinguishers did not have the equipment to immediately put out any fires that started up. One can only imagine that heads would roll because of this.
This shows the importance of accuracy in your tax return. The Canadian Revenue Agency (CRA) returned a Canadian man's tax return after he answered one of the questions as honestly as possible.
In response to the question, "Do you have anyone dependant on you?", the man wrote, "2.1 million Illegal immigrants, 1.1 million crack heads, 4.4 million unemployable scroungers, 80,000 criminals in over 85 prisons plus 450 idiots in Parliament and an entire group that call themselves politicians."
The CRA stated that the response he gave was unacceptable.
The man responded, "Who did I leave out?"
On 19 March 2014, the jury in the trial of a British publicist accused of sexual assault had to be dismissed from the courtroom after they could not stop laughing about testimony concerning the defendant's two-and-a-half inch penis. Max Clifford, the defendant in the case, is a publicist accused of assaulting seven women, including a witness who testified that the 70-year-old assaulted her in the 1980s.
The woman said that when she was 17 and trying to break into the modelling world, Clifford took advantage of her, groping her, masturbating and possibly ejaculating on her before trying to pimp her out to American film producer Cubby Broccoli in exchange for a role in a James Bond film.
But according to court testimony, Clifford, who once claimed to have slept with Diana Ross, was so poorly endowed that even his victims made jokes about his size. The woman said in her evidence that she thought Clifford was well-endowed and his penis was very large. "I had only seen one before, I had never seen one in that proximity and that situation."
The court heard claims that his penis was tiny and no more than two-and-a-half inches when erect. When defence lawyer Richard Horwell QC asked her about the issue, the woman remarked, "I have a small mouth. I do, my dentist has always said."
The judge then had to dismiss the jury for a few minutes so they could compose themselves, saying, "It is inevitable in a case dealing with this sort of graphic detail that members of the jury want to burst out laughing."
THERE IS ALWAYS A RATIONAL EXPLANATION FOR EVERYTHING
In a hospital's Intensive Care Unit, patients always died in the same bed, on Sunday morning, at about 11:00am, regardless of their medical condition. This puzzled the doctors and some even thought it had something to do with the supernatural.
No-one could solve the mystery as to why the deaths occurred around that time on Sundays, so a worldwide team of experts was assembled to investigate the cause of the incidents. The next Sunday morning, a few minutes before 11:00am all of the doctors and nurses nervously waited outside the ward to see for themselves what the terrible phenomenon was all about. Some were holding wooden crosses, prayer books, and other holy objects to ward off the evil spirits.
Just when the clock struck 11:00am, Fernando Rodriguez , the part-time Sunday cleaner, entered the ward and unplugged the life support system so he could use the vacuum cleaner.----------------------------------------------------
THE MOST EXPENSIVE DINNER FOR A KILLER WHALE
The average cost of rehabilitating a seal after the Exxon Valdez Oil spill in Alaska was $80,000. At a special ceremony, two of the most expensively saved animals were being released back into the wild, amid cheers and applause from onlookers.
A minute later as the seals swam to freedom, in full view, a killer whale ate them both.----------------------------------------------------
SHAKE YOUR BOOTY
A woman came home to find her husband in the kitchen shaking frantically, almost in a dancing frenzy, with some kind of wire running from his waist towards the electric kettle. Intending to jolt him away from the deadly current, she ran outside and grabbed a handy plank of wood and smacked him with it, breaking his arm in two places.
Up to that moment, he had been happily listening to his iPod.----------------------------------------------------
SERVES THEM RIGHT
Two animal rights defenders were protesting the cruelty of sending pigs to a slaughterhouse in Bonn, Germany. Suddenly, all two thousand pigs broke loose and escaped through a broken fence, stampeding madly.
The two helpless protesters were trampled to death.
A team of Danish and British gastroenterologists produced a paper on flatulence on planes after one of them, Jacob Rosenberg, was inspired on a flight between Copenhagen and Tokyo. They discovered that farting, cutting the cheese, letting her rip, breaking wind or whatever you wish to call it is better out than in, even on an aircraft.
Pilots especially have been urged to let flatulence out for safety's sake, but passengers risk being ignored by cabin crews if they do. The problem is that farting is an invariable consequence of digestion and people do it about 10 times a day. A former British study found that the average person, including (shock horror) the Queen of England, farts around 14 times per day. But people may fart more on flights because of changes in the volume of intestinal gasses as cabin pressure alters.The gastroenterologists stated that the holding back option may seem alluring, but there are drawbacks. Stress, discomfort, pain, bloating, dyspepsia and other symptoms could ensue, while not discounting the chance that all the effort may be sabotaged by turbulence in any case. "There is actually only one reasonable solution - just let it go," the medicos say. However, the odour - and women's farts smell worse than men's - may impair cabin service and thus the quality of life aboard the aircraft.
They warn of consequences in the cockpit. "If the pilot restrains a fart, all the drawbacks previously mentioned, including diminished concentration, may affect his abilities to control the airplane," the researchers say. "If he lets go of the fart his co-pilot may be affected by its odour, which again reduces safety on board the flight."
The specialists did not recommend setting farts alight, either on land or in a plane, despite its proven ability to reduce odour. They reluctantly dismissed the notion of rubber pants with an attached air container for collecting gas as somewhat extreme. But they suggested that putting active charcoal in passenger seats is a winner of an idea that could be backed up with special undies.
"The future frequent flyer may develop the ability to "sneak a fart" by wearing charcoal-lined underwear thus experiencing a comfortable flight in harmony with fellow passengers," they conclude. Pre-flight passenger methane breath tests and reducing fibre in airline food options were also considered.
The great revelation from this research is something that most of us wondered about, but did not have any way to prove it, which is that women's farts smell worse than men's farts. So if you smell a really bad fart, you can blame the nearest woman to you, claiming that your own farts are far sweeter and more palatable.
Journalist Dave Barry wrote of his first colonscopy experience in the US Miami Herald.
I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a colour diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis.
Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, "HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!"
I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription for a product called MoviPrep, which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America 's enemies.
I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavour.
Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-litre plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a litre is about 32 gallons! Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.
The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great sense of humour, state that after you drink it, "a loose, watery bowel movement may result." This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.
MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here, but, have you ever seen a space-shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another litre of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet. After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep.
The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, "What if I spurt on Andy?" How do you apologise to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be enough.
At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked.
Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good and I was already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep. At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.
When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point.
Andy had me roll over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my hand. There was music playing in the room, and I realised that the song was Dancing Queen by ABBA. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular procedure, Dancing Queen had to be the least appropriate. "You want me to turn it up?" said Andy, from somewhere behind me.
"Ha ha," I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like. I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, ABBA was yelling "Dancing Queen, feel the beat of the tambourine," and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood.
Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that it was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colours. I have never been prouder of an internal organ.
On the subject of Colonoscopies. Colonoscopies are no joke, but these comments during the exam were quite humorous. A physician claimed that the following are actual comments made by his patients (predominately male) while he was performing their colonoscopies:
President Kennedy's Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, was in France in the early 1960s when DeGaulle decided to pull out of NATO. DeGaulle said he wanted all US military out of France as soon as possible.
Rusk responded "Does that include those who are buried here?"----------------------------------------------------
There was a conference in France where a number of international engineers were taking part, including Frenchmen and Americans.
During a break, one of the French engineers came back into the room saying, "Have you heard the latest dumb stunt Bush has done? He has sent an aircraft carrier to Indonesia to help the tsunami victims. What does he intended to do, bomb them?"
A Boeing engineer stood up and replied quietly, "Our carriers have three hospitals on board that can treat several hundred people, they are nuclear-powered and can supply emergency electrical power to shore facilities, they have three cafeterias with the capacity to feed 3,000 people three meals a day. They can produce several thousand gallons of fresh water from sea water each day and they carry half a dozen helicopters for use in transporting victims and injured to and from their flight deck."
"We have eleven such ships - how many does France have?"----------------------------------------------------
A US Navy admiral was attending a naval conference that included admirals from the USA, English, Canadian, Australian and French navies.
At a cocktail reception, he found himself standing with a large group of officers that included personnel from most of those countries. Everyone was chatting away in English as they sipped their drinks but a French admiral suddenly complained that whereas Europeans learn many languages, Americans learn only English.
He then asked, "Why is it that we always have to speak English in these conferences rather than speaking French?"
Without hesitating, the American admiral replied, "Maybe it's because the Brits, Canadians, Aussies and Americans arranged it so you wouldn't have to speak German."----------------------------------------------------
Robert Whiting, an elderly gentleman of 83, arrived in Paris by plane. At French Customs, he took a few minutes to locate his passport in his carry-on bag.
"You have been to France before, Monsieur?" the customs officer asked sarcastically.
Mr Whiting admitted that he had been to France previously.
"Then you should know enough to have your passport ready." said the customs officer.
The American said, "The last time I was here, I didn't have to show it."
"Impossible. You Americans always have to show your passports on arrival in France!" exclaimed the customs officer.
The American senior gave the Frenchman a long hard look. Then he quietly explained, ''Well, when I came ashore at Omaha Beach on D-Day in 1944 to help liberate this country, I couldn't find a single Frenchman to show a passport to."
A man living in Kandos (near Mudgee in NSW, Australia) received a bill in March for his as yet unused gas line, stating that he owed $0.00. He ignored it and threw it away. In April, he received another bill and threw that one away too. The following month, the gas company sent him a very nasty note stating that they were going to cancel his gas line if he didn't send them $0.00 by return mail.
He called them, talked to them and they said it was a computer error and they would take care of it. The following month, he decided that it was about time that he tried out the troublesome gas line, figuring that if there was usage on the account, it would put an end to this ridiculous predicament. However, when he went to use the gas, it had been cut off.
He called the gas company, who apologised for the computer error once again and said that they would take care of it. The next day, he got a bill for $0.00, stating that payment was now overdue. Assuming that having spoken to them the previous day, the latest bill was yet another mistake, he ignored it, trusting that the company would be as good as their word and sort the problem out.
The next month he got a bill for $0.00. This bill also stated that he had 10 days to pay his account or the company would have to take steps to recover the debt.
Finally, giving in, he thought he would beat the gas company at their own game and mailed them a cheque for $0.00. The computer duly processed his account and returned a statement to the effect that he now owed the gas company nothing at all.
A week later, the manager of the Mudgee branch of the Westpac Banking Corporation called our hapless friend and asked him what he was doing writing a cheque for $0.00. After a lengthy explanation, the bank manager replied that the $0.00 cheque had caused their cheque processing software to fail. The bank could therefore not process ANY cheques they had received from ANY of their customers that day, because the cheque for $0.00 had caused the computer to crash.
The following month, the man received a letter from the gas company, claiming that his cheque had bounced and that he now owed them $0.00 and unless he sent a cheque by return mail they would take immediate steps to recover the debt.
At this point, the man decided to file a debt harassment claim against the gas company. It took him nearly two hours to convince the clerks at the Mudgee local courthouse that he was not joking. They subsequently helped him in the drafting of statements, which were considered substantive evidence of the aggravation and difficulties he had been forced to endure during this debacle.
The matter was heard in the Magistrate's Court in Mudgee and the outcome was this:
The gas company was ordered to:
And all this over $0.00.
This story was on the ABC website - "Who employs these idiots?"
Remember, these "people" walk among us and breathe the same air we do. And they VOTE!
An Austrian "Pastafarian" won the right to wear a pasta strainer on his head in his driving licence photo after a three-year struggle. Niko Alm, an atheist blogger who asked to have his driver's licence photo taken with a colander on his head, was finally found fit to drive by a psychologist and was allowed to take his official picture with the strainer on his head.
"Today I was able to get my new driving licence and in it you can clearly see that I'm wearing a colander on my head to demonstrate my allegiance to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster," Alm wrote in his blog, adding "My headwear has now been recognised by the Republic of Austria."
The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster was created in 2005 by an anti-religion group opposed to the teaching of intelligent design in biology classes in the United States. This act merely displays that if a person demands to wear a particular type of headgear for religious purposes, then anybody can wear anything on their heads for any purposes, even a rubber chicken if desired.
A lady called the Los Angeles Musicians Union to enquire about the cost of booking a five-piece band with a singer for a wedding.
The AFM representative, Peter Palmer, informed her, "Off the top of my head, roughly two thousand dollars".
She exclaimed, "WHAT? FOR MUSIC?"
Palmer responded, "Madam, I'll tell you what. Call the plumbers union and ask for six plumbers to work from six to twelve o'clock on a Saturday night. Whatever they charge you, my guys'll work for half of that."
She called back a little while later and said, "OK OK, I get your point Mr Palmer. Tell them to be there at 7 0'clock".
Many years ago, Al Capone virtually owned Chicago. Capone wasn't famous for anything heroic. He was notorious for enmeshing the windy city in everything from bootlegged booze and prostitution to murder.
Capone had a lawyer nicknamed 'Easy Eddie.' He was Capone's lawyer for a good reason. Eddie was very good! In fact, Eddie's skill at legal manoeuvring kept Big Al out of jail for a long time.
To show his appreciation, Capone paid him very well. Not only was the money big, but Eddie got special dividends as well. For instance, he and his family occupied a fenced-in mansion with live-in help and all of the conveniences of the day. The estate was so large that it filled an entire Chicago City block.
Eddie lived the high life of the Chicago mob and gave little consideration to the atrocities that went on around him. Eddie did have one soft spot, however. He had a son that he loved dearly. Eddie saw to it that his young son had clothes, cars, and a good education. Nothing was withheld. Price was no object. And despite his involvement with organised crime, Eddie even tried to teach him right from wrong. Eddie wanted his son to be a better man than he was.
Yet, with all his wealth and influence, there were two things he couldn't give his son; he couldn't pass on a good name or a good example.
One day, Easy Eddie reached a difficult decision. Easy Eddie wanted to rectify wrongs he had done. He decided he would go to the authorities and tell the truth about Al 'Scarface' Capone, clean up his tarnished name and offer his son some semblance of integrity. To do this, he would have to testify against The Mob and he knew that the cost would be great. So he testified.
Within the year, Easy Eddie's life ended in a blaze of gunfire on a lonely Chicago Street. But in his eyes, he had given his son the greatest gift he had to offer, at the greatest price he could ever pay. Police removed from his pockets a rosary, a crucifix, a religious medallion and a poem clipped from a magazine.
The poem read:
The clock of life is wound but once
And no man has the power
To tell just when the hands will stop
At late or early hour
Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will
Place no faith in time. For the clock may soon be still
World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare. He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier USS Lexington in the South Pacific.
One day his entire squadron was sent on a mission. After he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realised that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would not have enough fuel to complete his mission and get back to his ship. His flight leader told him to return to the carrier. Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet.
As he was returning to the mother ship, he saw something that turned his blood cold; a squadron of Japanese aircraft was speeding its way toward the American fleet.
The American fighters were gone on a sortie and the fleet was all but defenceless. He couldn't reach his squadron and bring them back in time to save the fleet. Nor could he warn the fleet of the approaching danger. There was only one thing to do. He must somehow divert them from the fleet.
Laying aside all thoughts of personal safety, he dove into the formation of Japanese planes. Wing-mounted 50 calibre guns blazed as he charged in, attacking one surprised enemy plane and then another. Butch wove in and out of the now broken formation and fired at as many planes as possible until all his ammunition was finally spent.
Undaunted, he continued the assault. He dove at the planes, trying to clip a wing or tail in hopes of damaging as many enemy planes as possible, rendering them unfit to fly.
Finally, the exasperated Japanese squadron took off in another direction.
Deeply relieved, Butch O'Hare and his tattered fighter limped back to the carrier. Upon arrival, he reported in and related the event surrounding his return. The film from the gun-camera mounted on his plane told the tale. It showed the extent of Butch's daring attempt to protect his fleet. He had in fact destroyed five enemy aircraft.
This took place on 20 February 1942 and for that action, Butch became the Navy's first Ace of World War II and the first naval aviator to win the highest US military decoration, the Congressional Medal of Honour.
A year later, Butch was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29. His home town would not allow the memory of this World War II hero to fade and today, O'Hare Airport in Chicago is named in tribute to the courage of this great man.
So the next time you find yourself at O'Hare International, give some thought to visiting Butch's memorial, displaying his statue and his Medal of Honour. It's located between Terminals 1 and 2.
Butch O'Hare was 'Easy Eddie's' son.
The following concerns a question in a physics degree examination at the University of Copenhagen: "Describe how to determine the height of a skyscraper using a barometer."
One student replied: "You tie a long piece of string to the neck of the barometer, then lower the barometer from the roof of the skyscraper to the ground. The length of the string plus the length of the barometer will equal the height of the building."
This highly original answer so incensed the examiner that the student was failed.
The student appealed on the grounds that his answer was indisputably correct, so the university appointed an independent arbiter to decide the case. The arbiter judged that the answer was indeed correct, but did not display any noticeable knowledge of physics.
To resolve the problem, it was decided to call the student in and allow him six minutes in which to provide a verbal answer that showed at least a minimal familiarity the basic principles of physics.
For five minutes the student sat in silence, forehead creased in thought. The arbiter reminded him that time was running out, to which the student replied that he had several extremely relevant answers, but couldn't make up his mind which to use.
On being advised to hurry up, the student replied as follows:
"Firstly, you could take the barometer up to the roof of the skyscraper, drop it over the edge and measure the time it takes to reach the ground. The height of the building can then be worked out from the formula H = 0.5g x t squared. But bad luck for the barometer."
"Or if the sun is shining, you could measure the height of the barometer, then set it on end and measure the length of its shadow. Then you measure the length of the skyscraper's shadow and thereafter it is a simple matter of proportional arithmetic to work out the height of the skyscraper."
"But if you wanted to be highly scientific about it, you could tie a short piece of string to the barometer and swing it like a pendulum, first at ground level and then on the roof of the skyscraper. The height is worked out by the difference in the gravitational restoring force T =2 pi sq root (l/g)."
"Or if the skyscraper has an outside emergency staircase, it would be easier to walk up it and mark off the height of the skyscraper in barometer lengths, then add them up."
"If you merely wanted to be boring and orthodox about it, of course you could use the barometer to measure the air pressure on the roof of the skyscraper and on the ground and convert the difference in millibars into feet to give the height of the building."
"But since we are constantly being exhorted to exercise independence of mind and apply scientific methods, undoubtedly the best way would be to knock on the janitor's door and say to him, 'If you would like a nice new barometer, I will give you this one if you tell me the height of this skyscraper'."
The student was Niels Bohr, the only person from Denmark to win the Nobel Prize for Physics.
Hello, my name is Basmati Kasaar.
I am suffering from rare and deadly diseases, poor scores on final exams, extreme virginity, and fear of being kidnapped and executed by anal electrocution.
I also suffer from the guilt of not forwarding 50 billion fucking chain letters sent to me by people who actually believe that if you send them on, a poor 6-year-old girl in Arkansas with a breast on her forehead will be able to raise enough money to have it removed before her redneck parents sell her to a travelling freak show.
Do you honestly believe that Bill Gates is going to give you and everyone to whom you send "his" mail, $1000? How stupid are we?
"Ooooh, looky here! If I scroll down this page and make a wish, I'll get laid by every Playboy model in the magazine!" What a bunch of bullshit. Basically, this message is a big FUCK YOU to all the people out there who have nothing better to do than to send me stupid chain mail forwards. Maybe the evil chain letter leprechauns will come into my apartment and sodomise me in my sleep for not continuing a chain that was started by Peter in 5 AD and brought to this country by midget pilgrims on the Mayflower and which, if it makes it to the year 2000, will be in the Guinness Book of World Records for longest continuous streak of blatant stupidity.
Fuck them. If you're going to forward something, at least send me something mildly amusing. I've seen all the "send this to 50 of your closest friends and this poor, wretched excuse for a human being will somehow receive a nickel from some omniscient being." I don't fucking care.
Show a little intelligence and think about what you're actually contributing to by sending out these forwards. Chances are, it's your own unpopularity. The point being? If you get some chain letter that's threatening to leave you shagless or luckless for the rest of your life, delete it. If it's funny, send it on. Don't piss people off by making them feel guilty about a leper in Botswana with no teeth who has been tied to a dead elephant for 27 years and whose only salvation is the 5 cents per letter he'll receive if you forward this email, lest he end up like Miranda.
Right? Now forward this to everyone you know. Otherwise, tomorrow morning your underwear will turn carnivorous and will consume your genitals, or not.
On 20 July 1969, as commander of the Apollo 11 lunar module, Neil Armstrong was the first person to set foot on the moon. His first words after stepping on the moon, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind," were televised to earth and heard by millions.
But just before he re-entered the lander, he made the enigmatic remark "Good luck, Mr Gorsky".
Many people at NASA though it was a casual remark concerning some rival Soviet cosmonaut. However, upon checking, there was no Gorsky in either the Russian or American space programs.
Over the years, many people questioned Armstrong as to what the “Good luck, Mr Gorsky” statement meant, but Armstrong always just smiled. On 05 July 1995 in Tampa Bay, Florida, while answering questions following a speech, a reporter brought up the 26-year-old question to Armstrong. This time he finally responded. Mr Gorsky had died, so Neil Armstrong felt he could now answer the question.
When he was a kid growing up in a small mid-western town, his neighbours were Mr and Mrs Gorsky. One day in 1938, he was playing baseball with a friend in the backyard. His friend hit the ball, which landed in his neighbour's yard by their bedroom window.
As he leaned down to pick up the ball, young Armstrong heard Mrs Gorsky shouting at Mr Gorsky, "A blowjob! You want a blowjob? You'll get a blowjob when the kid next door walks on the moon!"
This took place in Charlotte, North Carolina USA. A lawyer purchased a box of very rare and expensive cigars, then insured them against, among other things, fire.
Within a month, having smoked his entire stockpile of these great cigars, the lawyer filed a claim against the insurance company.
In his claim, the lawyer stated the cigars were lost 'in a series of small fires'. The insurance company refused to pay, citing the obvious reason, that the man had consumed the cigars in the normal fashion.
The lawyer sued and WON!
Delivering the ruling, the judge agreed with the insurance company that the claim was frivolous. The judge stated nevertheless, that the lawyer held a policy from the company, in which it had warranted that the cigars were insurable and also guaranteed that it would insure them against fire, without defining what is considered to be unacceptable 'fire' and was obligated to pay the claim.
Rather than endure lengthy and costly appeal process, the insurance company accepted the ruling and paid $15,000 to the lawyer for his loss of the cigars that perished in the 'fires'.
NOW FOR THE BEST PART
After the lawyer cashed the cheque, the insurance company had him arrested on 24 counts of ARSON!
With his own insurance claim and testimony from the previous case being used against him, the lawyer was convicted of intentionally burning his insured property and was sentenced to 24 months in jail and a $24,000 fine. This true story won first place in a Criminal Lawyers Award contest.
While transporting mental patients from Harare to Bulawayo , the bus driver stopped at a roadside shebeen (beer hall) for a few beers. When he got back to his vehicle, he found it empty, with the 20 patients nowhere to be seen.
Realising the trouble he was in if the truth were uncovered, he halted his bus at the next bus stop and offered lifts to those in the queue. Letting 20 people board, he then shut the doors and drove straight to the Bulawayo mental hospital, where he hastily handed over his 'charges', warning the nurses that they were particularly excitable.
Despite the furious protestations of the passengers, the mental hospital staff forcibly removed them from the bus. It was a whole three days later that suspicions were roused by the consistency of their stories and they were released. As for the real patients, nothing more has been heard of them and they have apparently blended comfortably back into Zimbabwean society.