Back in 1969 Jerry Brendt took this photo of two brothers messing around with white girls. This was not Selma, but Boston's Combat Zone where people could be people.
The Caddy is a convertible and the girls love the horseplay. Everything seems perfect.
Everything depends on your point of view or disposition.
"it's just a car, girl.
In 1980 my firend Carmine slid a .38 across the table of John's Italian Restaurant. I looked at it for a few seconds, the asked, "What's this?"
"A gun," said the Sicilian plumber.
"For what?"
"For protection. This is the East Village."
Junkies ruled the streets, thieves plagued the unknowing, and project thugs roamed the street for prey.
"Fuck protection. I can take care of myself." I pushed the weapon back to Carmine. "Plus the only way I would take it would be if you gave me a thousand bullets. Like you said, "This is the East Village."
The Upper Lower East Side was dangerous to a fault, but I was in my prime.
25, 165, and angry.
"Your choice, but never say I didn't give you an edge."
"Not to worry, I'll never say that."
I shunned guns.
In New York or Paris, or Hamburg or Pattaya, yet my sense of invincibility doesn't prevent white mother-fucekrs from try9ing to teach everyone how dangerous they can be with an AR-15 in their hands.
Last month several masked gunmen entered the Kentucky Statehouse armed to the teeth.
The fascist police waved them around the gun detectors. They stood at the top of the stairs. If I had a hammer in my hand, I would have whacked them in the heads, but I'm in New York City. We don't act like we are trying to reinstate slavery, because we well know that the banks have made us all slaves and I need Uncle Carmine to come out of the grave to re-armed me for the coming battle, although this next time I might need more than a thousand rounds.
After his exoneration by a GOP majority Donald Trump has regaled his victory by pushing out the boundaries of his party's extreme convictions. He has ousted his critics within the government and pursued the rejection of Stone's sentence for selling out the country to the Russians and lying to the Congress. Trump even showed his true self by tweeting 'If you attack the king, then you have to kill him."
Trump has attacked the social benefits of SSE and Medicare.
# 45 has upped the stakes of Hitlerian politics by messaging that ICE will be supported by armed gangs in their pursuit of illegal aliens in 'sanctuary cities' like NYC or LA.
Fascism.
Pure and simple, yet 45% of American voters favor the White House resident.
"I could shoot someone on 5th Avenue and get away with it."
Not if I was on the block.
Thankfully the old shit is old.
The night skies over Italy in 1610 were unsullied by the light overdose of the 21st Century. Galileo Galilei pointed a 20X telescope into the stars, while standing atop of rooftop at the University of Padua. The astronomer spotted a single moon orbiting Jupiter, but the next evening he divined that they were two not one and named the gas giant's sixth satellite after a lover of the God. Some modern-day religious-right star-gazers refer to Europa as Jupiter II, for in mythology Europa had been seduced and ravished by Zeus in the form of a white bull on the island of Crete. The God rewarded his victim with a javelin that never missed and later arranged the stars to create Taurus.
In Ovid's Metamorphoses, the poet portrayed the seduction in these verses; "And gradually she lost her fear, and he offered his breast for her virgin caresses, His horns for her to wind with chains of flowers until the princess dared to mount his back her pet bull's back, unwitting whom she rode. Then—slowly, slowly down the broad, dry beach — First in the shallow waves the great god set his spurious hooves, then sauntered further out 'til in the open sea he bore his prize. Fear filled her heart as, gazing back, she saw the fast receding sands. Her right hand grasped a horn, the other lent upon his back her fluttering tunic floated in the breeze."
If that's not porno what is.
Back in 2013 afternoon I received the following comment for Mangozeen:
bestiality
europeananimalsex.com/darcyelam@arcor.de
I do accept as true with all the ideas you’ve presented in your post. They’re very convincing and can definitely work. Nonetheless, the posts are too short for novices. May you please prolong them a little from next time? Thank you for the post. European animal sex has a long tradition, however Germany is considering a ban of zoophilia denying the origins of the continent. The maximum penalty for bestiality is $40,000US, while Ireland imprisons animal lovers for life. Sex with animals is legal in a number of states in the USA Alaska, DC, Guam, Hawaii, Kentucky, Montana, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Mexico, Ohio, Vermont, Virginia, Wyoming, West Virginia, Alabama and of course the cow fucking capitol of the world, Texas.
How they gonna leave the farm once they done Bessie?
The Beatles began their infestation of America in 1963 and the following April the Fab Four dominated the US charts with 5 #1 hits. I WANNA HOLD YOUR HAND was followed by one chartbuster after another. My next-door neighbor favored John Lennon. Addy Manzi had seen the group at Carniege Hall in December 2, 1964. Her father had played with big bands in the 40s and his old music contacts had scored the tickets.
”I screamed John’s name a million times. He never looked my way,” the beautiful brunette told her brother and me after she came home from New York. My ex-babysitter remained flustered until seeing the Beatles at Boston Garden a week later.
“John played every song for me.”
Every girl in the audience thought the same and the adoration of teenage girls transformed the English group into gods with the release of A HARD’S DAY NIGHT and RUBBER SOUL. No one in the rest of the world paid much attention when John Lennon claimed that the Beatles were more popular than Christ in the summer of 1966, but priests and preachers throughout America sought to burn their LPs in Nazi fashion, however the bonfires of the Bible Belt were shunned by millions of virtuous girls willing to sacrifice their maidenhood to Beatlemania.
This defloration fantasy was shared by the majority of New England girls.
Most girls pined for Paul McCartney. My younger sister wrote ‘the cute Beatle’ a dozen letters. She was not alone.
Kyla Rolla was the cutest girl in my 8th Grade class at Our Lady of the Foothills. She wore her blonde hair long like Paul’s girlfriend, the British actress Jane Asher. I knew her since we were 8. She hadn't said three words to me in five years.
My band was the outlaw Rolling Stones. I couldn’t tell Kyla that SATISFACTION was the greatest rock song of all time or that I loved the B-side of the 45, UNDER-ASSISTANT WEST COAST PROMO MAN. In order to gain her heart I committed treason to the best rock and roll band in the world and pretended to like the Beatles.
I stopped visiting the barbershop in Mattapan Square. My hair grew over my ears. Desert boots were abandoned in favor of Beatles boots. I wore a Beatles jacket without a collar. It cost $15. Matching pants were another $10. I wore the suit to school.
The nuns sent me home with a note for my parents, breaking my perfect attendance streak, but Kyla noticed my belated surrender to Beatlemania and after school on the bus ride home, she sat next to me for the first time in years.
“Who’s your favorite Beatle?” Her uniform skirt was four inches over her knees. The nuns sent home any girl with a higher hemline. There was only one answer.
“Paul.”
“Me too.” Kyla moved closer.
Her skin smelled of Ivory soap and her hair bore the faint fragrance of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo. Her green eyes were the color of the emeralds stolen by Murph the Surf from the Museum of Natural History in New York.
I prayed that she didn’t notice my breathing her scent, as our conservations revolved around Paul McCartney trivia.
Paul was a Gemini like me. He was 22. I was 12. His favorite color was blue.
"Mine too." It was the truth.
I told Kyla that she looked like Jane Asher.
She let me hold her hands.
I sang her songs off BEATLES 65. ‘YOU’VE GOT TO HIDE YOUR LOVE AWAY.
Kyla closed her eyes dreaming that I was her Paul.
“Kiss me, Jane.”
“Oh, Paul.”
Our lips met at the red light before the local church. Paul’s soul invaded my body and my hand touched Kyla’s cashmere sweater. Her ribs felt like thick guitar strings. My fingertips inched higher.
“Oh, Paul.”
My hand grazed the bottom of her breast and Kyla gasped with outrage. A slap to my cheek devastated my imitation of Paul.
“But I thought that____”
“You thought wrong. You’re no Paul.” Kyla pulled down her shirt and stormed down the aisle to the girls her age.
My older brother had seen the entire episode. His eyes warned the other boys to not make fun of me. It didn’t stop their snickers.
Every day I begged Kyla for forgiveness. She ignored my every entreaty and went steady with Jimmie Lally for the rest of the school year.
His hair color was closer to Paul’s than mine.
I didn’t hate him or her, because they were accurate caricatures of the greater world beyond the confines of Boston’s South Shore.
Kyla broke up with Jimmy in May.
"You can write me in Florida," she said on the last day of school. Her parents were divorced and her old man was living in Miami.
"But why didn't you talk to me all this time?"
"Because I wanted to teach you a lesson."
"About what?"
"About wanting to hold my hand."
I wrote her letters that summer.
In September we were a thing again, but I could tell that her kisses were for Paul same as her caresses. I hated him and his poster over her bed. He stared at me all the time and I gave him the finger whenever she wasn't looking.
My parents bought SGT. PEPPER for my birthday. I listened to it once. Kyla had ruined the Beatles for me. The Rolling Stones regained my devotion. I played HIS SATANICAL MAJESTY’S REQUEST twice a day as if the Devil could transform Kyla’s love for Paul into stone, but the Beatles were more powerful than Satan.
Over the next few years Kyla and I never went all the way. We were saving it for our wedding night. Her mother was going a man from Chile. They spent nights out in Boston. We had the run of the house until midnight. I was almost a man.
Kyla introduced me to WBCN on her FM radio. “Mississippi Harold Wilson” was the first DJ to play Cream’s I FEEL FREE. She loved the Velvet Underground. I was a big fan of the Jefferson Airplane.
We lay on the couch of her dark living room. Our nights were everything except have sex. My parents understood that we were in love. My mother was okay with our dating as long as I got home before midnight. I felt a little like Cinderella.
My hair grew longer. Kyla and I talked about running away to San Francisco for the summer of love. We got as far as Wollaston Beach.
At summer’s end I spent a long night on the couch. Time disappeared from our universe, as WBCN’s night DJ played the Modern Lovers’ ROADRUNNER and Quicksilver’s MONA, then JJ Johnson announced over the air, “I have a special song to play this evening. A masterpiece. HEY JUDE by The Beatles.”
I stopped rubbing against Kyla’s thigh. WBCN never played The Beatles. Paul McCartney, my old rival, opened with vocals and piano. F, C and B-flat. The second verse added a guitar and tambourine. Simple and purely The Beatles.
“I love this.” Kyla pulled me closer. The four minute coda of ‘Hey Jude’ went on forever. At the song’s end I was still a virgin, but only just. Kyla opened her eyes and sighed, “That was good.”
I read the love in her eyes.
Paul.
Always Paul.
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was 2:10. I kissed her lips and dressed fast, as if my speed could turn back the hands of time. Kyla waved from the door way. She was wearing a silk robe.
“Tomorrow.”
“Manana.” I had learned the word from her mother’s boyfriend. He let me drink wine.
The streets of my hometown were suburb quiet. No cars. All the houses dark. My home was three miles away. I was on the track team and ran my best time for that distance.
A car appeared around a curve. A VW. It was my father’s car. He must have been coming to get me. His mood had to be dark. He liked his sleep. The VW 180ed in the street with a screech. It had a short turning circle. The car braked to a halt and the passenger door shot open.
“Get in.” It was a command.
I sat down expecting the worst.
My father read the riot act.
"All you had to do was call. Ten seconds and say you were all right. But you were only thinking about yourself.”
I never saw the punch coming. The VW never swerved. Blood dripped on my shirt. My father handed me a rag. I could tell that he was sorry for having lost his temper. He had never hit me before.
“You’re grounded for a week.”
“Yes, sir.” A month was punishment. A week was an apology.
He turned on the radio to WBZ. The disc jockey was playing HEY JUDE.
Soon The Beatles song seemed to be the only song on the radio. Kyla played it at home. My mother and my father knew the words. I couldn’t get them out of my head.
At the end of my grounding I went over to Kyla’s house. Her mother was out on a date. I looked up at Paul. Kyla put on SGT. PEPPERS LONELY HEART CLUB BAND. She pulled me to her and I should have walked out, but leaving Kyla wasn’t in my heart and I sang along with Paul. She smiled and kissed my lips.
I might not have been her Paul, but I was holding her hand and Paul never did that other than in her dreams.
The Beatles released ABBEY ROAD on 26 September 1969.
The pop quartet's eleventh LP was their last and featured such McCartney disasters as "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" and "Oh! Darling", but was saved by Lennon, Ringo, and George.
According Wikipedia shortly after the album's release, the cover became part of the "Paul is dead" theory that was spreading across college campuses in the US. According to followers of the rumour, the cover depicted the Beatles walking out of a cemetery in a funeral procession. The procession was led by Lennon dressed in white as a religious figure; Starr was dressed in black as the undertaker; McCartney, out of step with the others, was a barefoot corpse; and Harrison dressed in denim was the gravedigger. The left-handed McCartney is holding a cigarette in his right hand, indicating that he is an imposter, and the number plate on the Volkswagen parked on the street is 28IF, meaning that McCartney would have been 28 if he had lived – despite the fact that he was only 27 at the time of the photo and subsequent release of the record.
Some people might think he had been reincarnated as a fly, except I saw him on Hamptons Beach in the 1990s, then again if Paul died inIndia, then the man on the LP cover was a fake and ended up as a fly.
The 2020 Kili Intiative team has departed from the Kibo Lodge in Loitokitok for the Maasai Plains under the guidance of JM, Ma'we, and Fast Steve.
The road down to the highway is so familiar from last year with Mount Kilimanjaro looming behind the group of Tanzanian and Kenya young adults.
The valley stretches for miles to the east filled with lions, elephants, giraffes, zebra, and countless other African species.
At one point the map is spread atop a hill and the team navigators see to find where they are and where they need to go.
"I told you we need to go left..." "I have no idea where we are..." "Can you see if there is a Java nearby?"
Needless to say they found Inkisanjane.
They made dinner inside the school.
At night the team sat around a campfire. In less than a week I will join them and Commander Tim, but not on LoLoipange.
The Hill of Thorns.
I will be leaving New York on Monday February 17 to meet the 2020 Kili Initiative team in Marangu Tanzania. Originally, the first Mt Kilimanjaro climb was just going to be a one-off ascent, with the singular aim of raising a few US dollars for community projects and to offer 10 young Africans the opportunity to reach the highest point in Africa. Since its inception, KI has lead more than 500 climbers to the summit of Mt Kilimanjaro, including 220 youth from Africa and beyond, and raised hundreds of thousands of US dollars for youth-based activities in Kenya and Tanzania. Mt Kilimanjaro has inspired, saved and transformed.
I will be joining the team for my second climb as well as fill in sections for my film about the 2019 climb and team members to promote the project.
I thank you for your past help and hope you can help me achieve the summit and complete my filming.
Asante
Peter Nolan Smith
https://www.gofundme.com/f/top-of-africa/donate
"Women are always right and they are never more right then when they are wrong and you try to convince of this." Pascha Ray.
They're different creatures rom man as proven by this email from Brian LeBouef featuring a short story exercise written by a male and female student at the U of Phoenix.
The professor told his class: "Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As homework tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that paragraph and copy me on the email. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story and send it back, also copying me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is be absolutely NO talking outside of the e-mails, and anything you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached."
The following was actually turned in by two of his English students: Rebecca and Gary.
THE STORY
(first paragraph by Rebecca)
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
(second paragraph by Gary)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his trans-galactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he
could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay.
The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.
(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel,"
Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her.
"Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
(Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live.
Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace disarmament Treaty through the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of >, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid, Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty!
Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"
(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.
(Gary)
Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F---ING TEA??? Oh no, I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steel novels!"
(Rebecca)
Asshole.
(Gary)
Bitch.
(Rebecca)
F__K YOU - YOU NEANDERTHAL!
(Gary)
Go drink some tea - whore.
(TEACHER)
A+ - I really liked this one
And that's says it all about men and how they treat women.
Of course this is totally sexist and racist, especially when they both go Homo Sapiens and attack us Neanderthals.
The world is not flat, but scholars of pseudo-cosmography cling to the belief in a 2D Earth like Seven-Day Adventists' hope for the 2nd Coming of their Messiah.
As early as 150BC Greeks divined the world was round through mathematics.
Western historians claim that ancient societies espoused flat-worldism, however the center of the cult was Kabbalishers in Europe, where the skies were too dark to witness the rotation of the planet.
Tibet and Egypt revered astrologers, however truth-seekers were burned at the stake in Europe.
Galileo Galilei suffered a life sentence of house arrest under the pedo-Vatican. Math was scorned. Telescopes were considered sacrilege. Knowledge was taboo. In death his desiccated middle finger promotes his regard on the Holy Roman Church's understanding on the universe.
As long as they love God.
Personally I would rather hang with tramp Barbies than extoll the existence of a flat earth.
I have flown in Space over the northern pole
I have seen the the curvature of the earth.
I've circumnavigated the planet ten times.
The world is not flat, but it seems that way when you hit the surface.
Unless it's in the snow.
Snow is soft to a fallen man.
Even in a round world society.
The 2013 Christmas season had been a disaster on 47th Street.
Back in the 1990s I usually sold close to a quarter of a million in jewelry and my commissions provided a healthy six-month cushion for the winter, however in 2013 my sales from Thanksgiving to the Winter Equinox totaled less than $25000. After Xmas Richie Boy didn't need my services and my commish would carry my expenses only into the second week of January. He needed money and a lot of it, for his firm along with most ground-floor stores in the Diamond District were adrift in dangerous waters.
After New Year's Manny, my octogenarian boss, complained that the lack of sales was due to how we set up the window.
"You have to spread out the rings. Show people what we have." Manny roamed the street looking at other firm's windows. Any shop with customers inside it had to be doing something right. Our exchange was a morgue. We had very few diamond rings in the case.
No one-carat stones for the common man.
Everything was a big ticket item and the rich weren't shopping on 47th Street.
n y before New Year's I came into the city from Brooklyn to drop off pearls. I met Sammie at Richie Boy's counter. I gave him his goods and he returned my memo.
"I've never seen a Christmas like this." Sammie had been in the business over thirty years.
"The jewelry business is dead." I had been working on the street since 1990.
"Why do you say that?" asked a Hassidic Rebbi. Sol was renown for his wisdom. Many of his followers were diamond merchants. He must have heard their moans.
"Prices went up. Customers don't want to come into the city. They see the ads for Zales and Jared and hit the malls, but mostly people shop online. For everything. No one even knows 47th Street exists." I had excuses galore for the collapse of our industry.
"That's rubbish," grumbled Manny from his desk. He regarded idle talk as a waste of time. "Hard work is what makes a business flourish."
"How do you hard work yourself out of this hole?" Sammie was seriously seeking an answer.
"It won't be easy. The street has to advertise itself. Our old customers are dying off. We need new blood, but most people under forty never buy jewelry, because they can't commit to a relationship. All they have are their smart phones and smart phones don't need diamonds."
"You don't know nothing," smirked Manny. He had been in the business for over sixty years.
"Have you ever seen it this bad?" Sol demanded in a quiet tone. The rebbi didn't want anyone to know what he thought of the economic climate.
"I got robbed for a half-million dollars. That was a bad time during a time of good money. All we have to do is make one good sale and everything will be fine." Manny waved his hands in the air like he was trying to conjure a rich customer from thin air. The exchange remained empty. "But when that is, I don't know."
"What do you know?" The Rebbi stepped closer to the counter.
"I know nothing," Manny admitted in an unexpected display of honesty.
"Then you are the smartest man on the street, for anyone with all the answers hasn't heard all the questions." The Rebbi blessed Manny and walked into the cold winter air.
Sammie and I looked at each other.
"So ignorance is a blessing?" Sammie buttoned his jacket. He had to go to see a pearl merchant in Chinatown.
"Socrates said, to know, is to know that you know nothing. That is the meaning of true knowledge."
"Sounds like Greek bullshit to me." Manny waved for us to leave. "I have work to do, not bullshit to hear, you beatnik bums.
"Happy New Year, Manny." I wished the old man. Manny and I went back in the years. Many of them had been good and I hoped for more to come, if we were lucky. He slipped an envelope filled with $100 bills across the counter.
"I wish it was more."
"I wish I had sold more." For his sake as well as mine.
"Maybe 2014 will be different, but what do I know?"
"Nothing. Just like me." Ignorance was always easier to achieve than enlightenment.
"Exactly. Come back later and we'll have a drink. Maybe two." My boss dug into his pile of papers. The answer to his problems wasn't in his bills, but it was better to look where it wasn't than where it was with only one day left in 2013.
Nothing really bad could happen in that time, especially when ignorance is blessed by a rebbi.
The last numeric palindromic date on the Gregorian Calendar was 11-11-1111 AD or XI-XI-MXXI Anno Dominum, although time in 1111 AD for most of the Christian world was ruled by the old Julian Calendar, but Pope Gregory changed the calendar to stop Easter from wandering all of the months. Yesterday 02-02-2020 was the first time in 919 years that the date could be correctly read from right to left as well as left to right.
I checked to see what happening on ye olde 11-11-1111.
Nothing of note in the western world.
Then again it was a Saturday.
Another work day for the masses.
Yesterday was Super Bowl Sunday.
Kansas City won over San Francisco.
Otherwise nothing of note happened in the modern world.
Here are some stunning examples of how uneducated people are from THE GREAT BRITISH QUIZ CONTESTANTS.
UNIVERSITY CHALLENGE (BBC2) Jeremy Paxman: What is another name for 'cherrypickers' and 'cheesemongers'? Contestant: Homosexuals.. Jeremy Paxman: No. They're regiments in the British Army who will be very upset with you
BEG, BORROW OR STEAL (BBC2) Jamie Theakston: Where do you think Cambridge University is? Contestant: Geography isn't my strong point. Jamie Theakston: There's a clue in the title. Contestant: Leicester.
BBC NORFOLK Stewart: Who had a worldwide hit with What A Wonderful World? Contestant: I don't know. Stewart I'll give you some clues: what do you call the part between your hand and your elbow? Contestant: Arm Stewart: Correct. And if you're not weak, you're...? Contestant: Strong. Stewart Correct - and what was Lord Mountbatten's first name? Contestant: Louis Stewart Well, there we are then. So who had a worldwide hit with the song What A Wonderful World? Contestant: Frank Sinatra?
LATE SHOW (BBC MIDLANDS) Alex Trelinski: What is the capital of Italy ? Contestant: France. Trelinski: France is another country. Try again. Contestant: Oh, um, Benidorm. Trelinski: Wrong, sorry, let's try another question. In which country is the Parthenon? Contestant: Sorry, I don't know. Trelinski: Just guess a country then. Contestant: Paris.
THE WEAKEST LINK (BBC2) Anne Robinson: Oscar Wilde, Adolf Hitler and Jeffrey Archer have all written books about their experiences in what: - Prison, or the Conservative Party? Contestant The Conservative Party.
BEACON RADIO ( WOLVERHAMPTON ) DJ Mark: For 10, what is the nationality of the Pope? Ruth from Rowley Regis: I think I know that one. Is it Jewish?
UNIVERSITY CHALLENGE Bamber Gascoyne: What was Gandhi's first name? Contestant: Goosey?
GWR FM ( Bristol ) Presenter: What happened in Dallas on November 22, 1963? Contestant: I don't know, I wasn't watching it then.
PHIL WOOD SHOW (BBC RADIO?MANCHESTER) Phil: What's 11 squared? Contestant: I don't know. Phil: I'll give you a clue. It's two ones with a two in the middle. Contestant: Is it five?
ROCK FM ( PRESTON ) Presenter: Name a film starring Bob Hoskins that is also the name of a famous painting by Leonardo da Vinci. Contestant: Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
JAMES O'BRIEN SHOW (LBC) James O'Brien: How many kings of England have been called Henry? Contestant: Er, well, I know there was a Henry the Eighth .. ER. ER ... Three?
THE VAULT
Melanie Sykes: What is the name given to the condition where the sufferer can fall asleep at any time? Contestant: Nostalgia."
STEVE WRIGHT IN THE AFTERNOON (BBC RADIO 2)
Wright: Johnny Weissmuller died on this day. Which jungle-swinging character clad only in a loin cloth did he play? Contestant: Jesus.
Christians can find Jesus everywhere and Jesus is always the right answer to any question.
Cheers, Britain. The USA is right with you.
