Senior Official at HSE Sent Wrong Redundancy Package

After a second examination of x-rays taken by a Filipino cruise ship entertainer masquerading as a doctor, a senior official at the Health Service Executive has sent himself a redundancy package advising that his vaginal ultrasound scans are now being reviewed, and that he will be kept informed of any change in diagnosis.
Vaginal Scan

The news has upset the administrator, who was privately inclined to agree with public concerns that there are too many employed at management level within the health service. Now, however, the possible misdiagnosis of a cyst on his vaginal wall more than a year ago may mean that he has to undergo treatment and remain on at the Executive in some sort of clerical capacity.

A preliminary review of at least ten x-rays carried out following recent controversies over misdiagnoses has found that a lump, looking not unlike an oversized but slightly premature newborn male kitten, could in fact be malignant. The HSE official has expressed shock at the findings, given that he had sent the redundancy package via registered mail and expected receipt of nothing other than a cheque, a glowing reference and a letter of termination from himself in the post. Opening the envelope, he was devastated to learn that he had submitted himself to a series of vaginal scans in July 2010, and further, that the tests now revealed that he might have a malignant carcinoma.

Diagram of the vagina

His redundancy package comes at a time when the government is offering severance payments for as many as many thousands of public sector workers. As his was regarded as a test case, the administrator is delighted that the mistake was caught, and he has urged anyone who had tests between April and August 2010 to contact their health professionals as a matter of urgency.


Burnt Toast

Kids – Have you been smoking in the house when you’re not supposed to?

The parents are coming home in twenty minutes, you have all the windows open, but the smell’s not leaving the house?

And air freshener is way too obvious, it’s a dead giveaway, right?

Burn some toast.

Set that toaster to HIGH HIGH HIGH

and get that bread SMOKin’!
Here’s how toast works:
You’ve got tobacco smells in your house. Burnt toast actually overpowers the smell of tobacco, and because it’s a different kind of smoky smell, your parents will just think you burnt some toast.

So next time your parents go away for the weekend, don’t get caught smoking tobacco—get caught smoking bread.

From the same people who brought you the excuse for the condom floating in the toilet. That's right - you were having a water balloon fight, and you don't know what the hell a condom is!

Third Anniversary of Elvis Impersonator Killing Spree Remembered At Elvis Fan Club’s Twenty-Fifth Anniversary

The massacre three years ago of thirteen Elvis impersonators at a log cabin resort on Lake Michigan was remembered yesterday by the sole surviving member of the Topeka KA chapter of the fan club to which they all belonged.
Photo courtesy of bill_bla_ca

Langston Whitty, 62, recalls the fateful day when he and his eighteen Elvis impersonator friends arrived for a vacation on Lake Michigan. There, to their horror, they encountered Canadian psychopath Maurice Loudain, who had evaded capture for many months after escaping the maximum security wing at a Montreal prison.
Photo courtesy of skyhk

After Loudain cut power to the satellite dish powering the log cabins, all methods of communication with the outside world were severed. Unable to contact the authorities, the King of Rock n Roll tribute acts were at the mercy of the bilingual genius. Loudain effectively picked off Elvis impersonators in the forest wilds for three days, killing thirteen and maiming three others, one of whom was lucky to escape with his own head. Given their vacation experience, it’s no surprise to learn that the three injured Elvis Aaron Presley imitators have since left the club. The whereabouts of another two King impersonators has never been ascertained. Although it is possible that Loudain still holds them prisoner somewhere on the US Canadian border, it is far more likely that he has since eaten them, or worse.

Loudain had been known to have an intense loathing of impressionists of all kinds since being convicted of the murder of an Ottawa drag act famed for singing Liza Minelli show tunes. DNA analysis has led to subsequent convictions for the murder of a George W Bush voiceover impressionist at a Newfoundland radio station, and an Albany ventriloquist, some of whose dummies had likenesses to Hollywood celebrities, including Cosby Show alumnus Tempestt Bledsoe and The Golden Girls’ Bea Arthur. Since his prison escape, the psychopath remains at large.

Meanwhile, Langston Whitty today cuts a lonely figure at an Elvis Convention in Tupelo, the King’s place of birth. Three years ago, he would have made the journey here from Kansas with eighteen of his fellow sequinned vocalist mimics.
Photo courtesy of bill_bla_ca

“We all would’ve been crowding around this here stall, set up all nice and special, for our fan club’s chapter,” he explains, wistfully. He taps his foot off the table leg, his flared trouser end billowing with regret.

Today, he has the stall to himself. Whitty pays tribute to the memory of his fellow tribute artists by detailing the events surrounding their deaths. He explains how they first knew something was wrong when Loudain’s first victim of their log cabin vacation, Seymour Emerson Tatchell V, excused himself to use the bathroom. After failing to return from the outhouse an hour later, Tatchell was found by the other silky voiced impersonators slumped on the latrine, apparently strangled to death by the toilet’s flush chain wrapped tightly around his throat, above the medallion that hung in his chest hair.
Photo courtesy of the estate of Emerson Tatchell V and the Chester Newton Funeral Parlor

Trying to contact the authorities, the eighteen men realized that the satellite dish cables to the log cabins had been cut. Watching a DVD of Blue Hawaii, they had not noticed the loss of television signal. Their chartered seaplane wasn’t due to return for a week. The talented King of Rock and Roll mimics had no means of escape, and no way to contact outsiders. Over the course of a horrific three days, another twelve brave and noble tribute acts – some with big lamb chop sideburns, sequins and vast paunches, representing “Late Elvis”, others, young and toned in leather jackets, epitomizing the King’s Fifties heyday – were fatally eviscerated, stabbed, shot or electrocuted by madman Loudain.

When relatives’ phone calls weren’t returned and the alarm was finally raised, a rescue helicopter arrived to find Langston Whitty and three survivors straddling a rocky outcrop on a cliff face four miles from the log cabins, as Loudain climbed towards them.
Photo courtesy of skyhk

Photo courtesy of skyhk

The helicopter crew did not appreciate the urgency of the situation until a stretcher was lowered from the chopper, and the crewman harnessed to it was pulled to his death by Loudain, disappearing into the forest canopy below. Luckily, the struggle between Loudain and the qualified paramedic – himself something of an Elvis fan – bought the dulcet toned impressionists some time.

Chelmsford “Chuck” Drysdale, at 23 the youngest fan club member and today diagnosed as “a quadriplegic mess”, was placed on the stretcher and winched up to the rescue craft. Two more Elvii struggled to be hauled to safety due to having fewer limbs than they were used to. When the rope ladder was lowered for the final time, Whitty leapt just as Loudain’s hand reached out to snatch his ankle. As the chopper departed, Whitty gripped the end of the rope ladder tightly with just one hand, only glancing back once to see an enraged Loudain now standing on the outcrop. Loudain roared in fury after the rescue chopper, clutching Whitty’s blue suede shoe. Whitty then found purchase with his free hand, ignoring the agony in his dislocated shoulder as the chopper sailed into the sky.
Photo courtesy of skyhk

The silver jubilee of the fan club is no place to recall the horrors that the copycat singers experienced, however. Whitty relaxes at his stall, as the fan club’s other branches hold a singing competition on a stage at the end of the same hall. The prize is a weekend break for two in Memphis. Right now, a Taiwanese Elvis known as King a Ling Ling is crooning Love Me Tender. As he watches the entertainment, Whitty hasn’t decided yet if he wants to take part.
Photo courtesy of bill_bla_ca

Photo courtesy of bill_bla_ca

“Be good to win the contest, to honor the memory of those who passed,” he says, scratching his nose. “Then again, that Asian Elvis is pretty good and if I lose, it’ll look bad that I didn’t get the sympathy vote.”