<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5006713605489485717</id><updated>2012-02-16T00:22:58.176-08:00</updated><category term='joke'/><category term='humour'/><category term='funny'/><title type='text'>Brett Penace`s Blog</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brettpenace.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5006713605489485717/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brettpenace.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Sem</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10723173658718721246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>3</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5006713605489485717.post-22693052752484460</id><published>2008-10-28T06:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T06:31:41.941-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='joke'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><title type='text'>Pooing Abroad</title><content type='html'>A few years back me and my Dad went over to Dublin for England vs Ireland in the 6 Nations. Also on the trip was a guy my Dad used to work with. Anyway we went to the game and as is the custom got fucking shit-faced before, during and after. We ended up in a bar in the city centre downing tequila, pernod, Jack Daniels, vodka and anything and everything the barman would serve us. As you can imagine I was out of it, we ended up in a burger bar which I decorated with my vomit. We somehow got back to the B&amp;B where in the room was a single and double bed. Dad being most senior got the single and me and the other bloke shared the double. He had to get up early to catch a flight home, we were staying for another day. I didn't hear him leave and when I eventually came round was greeted by shit stains all over the sheets. My shit stains. As the name was in my Dad's colleagues name we just put the duvet back and scarpered!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5006713605489485717-22693052752484460?l=brettpenace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brettpenace.blogspot.com/feeds/22693052752484460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5006713605489485717&amp;postID=22693052752484460' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5006713605489485717/posts/default/22693052752484460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5006713605489485717/posts/default/22693052752484460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brettpenace.blogspot.com/2008/10/pooing-abroad.html' title='Pooing Abroad'/><author><name>Sem</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10723173658718721246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5006713605489485717.post-6800403668531113827</id><published>2008-10-18T06:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T06:30:41.694-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='joke'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><title type='text'>You Know Your Australian When...</title><content type='html'>1. You know the meaning of the word "girt".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. You believe that stubbies can be either drunk or worn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. You think it's normal to have a leader called Kevin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. You waddle when you walk due to the 53 expired petrol discount vouchers stuffed in your wallet or purse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. You've made a bong out of your garden hose rather than use it for something illegal such as watering the garden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. You believe it is appropriate to put a rubber in your son's pencil case when he first attends school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. When you hear that an American "roots for his team" you wonder how often and with whom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. You understand that the phrase "a group of women wearing black thongs" refers to footwear and may be less alluring than it sounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. You pronounce Melbourne as "Mel-bin".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. You pronounce Penrith as "Pen-riff".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. You believe the "l" in the word "Australia" is optional.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. You can translate: "Dazza and Shazza played Acca Dacca on the way to Maccas."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. You believe it makes perfect sense for a nation to decorate its highways with large fibreglass bananas, prawns and sheep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. You call your best friend "a total bastard" but someone you really, truly despise is just "a bit of a bastard".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. You think "Woolloomooloo" is a perfectly reasonable name for a place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. You're secretly proud of our killer wildlife.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. You believe it makes sense for a country to have a $1 coin that's twice as big as its $2 coin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. You understand that "Wagga Wagga" can be abbreviated to "Wagga" but "Woy Woy" can't be called "Woy".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. You believe that cooked-down axlegrease makes a good breakfast spread. (Mmm...Vegemite...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. You believe all famous Kiwis are actually Australian, until they stuff up, at which point they again become Kiwis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. Hamburger. Beetroot. Of course. Of course - you cannot eat a hamburger without beetroot!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. You know that certain words must, by law, be shouted out during any rendition of the Angels' song Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. You believe, as an article of faith, that the confectionary known as the Wagon Wheel has become smaller with every passing year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. You still don't get why the "Labor" in "Australian Labor Party" is not spelt with a "u".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. You wear ugh boots outside the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. You believe, as an article of faith, that every important discovery in the world was made by an Australian but then sold off to the Yanks for a pittance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. You believe that the more you shorten someone's name the more you like them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. Whatever your linguistic skills, you find yourself able to order takeaway fluently in every Asian language.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. You understand that "excuse me" can sound rude, while "scuse me" is always polite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. You know what it's like to swallow a fly, on occasion via your nose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. You understand that "you" has a plural and that it's "youse".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32. You know it's not summer until the steering wheel is too hot to handle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33. Your biggest family argument over the summer concerned the rules for beach cricket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;34. You shake your head in horror when companies try to market what they call "Anzac cookies".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;35. You still think of Kylie as "that girl off Neighbours".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;36. When returning home from overseas, you expect to be brutally strip-searched by Customs - just in case you're trying to sneak in fruit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;37. You believe the phrase "smart casual" refers to a pair of black tracky-daks, suitably laundered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;38. You understand that all train timetables are works of fiction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;39. When working on a bar, you understand male customers will feel the need to offer an excuse whenever they order low-alcohol beer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;40. You get choked up with emotion by the first verse of the national anthem and then have trouble remembering the second.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;41. You find yourself ignorant of nearly all the facts deemed essential in the government's new test for migrants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;42. You know, whatever the tourist books say, that no one says "cobber".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;43. And you will immediately forward this list to other Australians, here and overseas, realising that only they will understand.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5006713605489485717-6800403668531113827?l=brettpenace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brettpenace.blogspot.com/feeds/6800403668531113827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5006713605489485717&amp;postID=6800403668531113827' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5006713605489485717/posts/default/6800403668531113827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5006713605489485717/posts/default/6800403668531113827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brettpenace.blogspot.com/2008/10/you-know-your-australian-when.html' title='You Know Your Australian When...'/><author><name>Sem</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10723173658718721246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5006713605489485717.post-3232011508500512782</id><published>2008-10-14T10:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T06:29:15.339-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='humour'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='joke'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='funny'/><title type='text'>Heaven</title><content type='html'>Dolly Parton and Queen Elizabeth II went to the Pearly Gates on the&lt;br /&gt;same day. They both met with an Angel to find out if they would be&lt;br /&gt;admitted to Heaven&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Angel said 'Unfortunately, there's only one space in Heaven today&lt;br /&gt;so I must decide which of one of you will be admitted'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Angel asked Dolly if there was some particular reason why she&lt;br /&gt;should go to Heaven. Dolly took off her top and said, 'Look at these,&lt;br /&gt;they're the most perfect breasts God ever created and I'm sure it will&lt;br /&gt;please God to be able to see them every day, for eternity.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Angel thanked Dolly, and asked Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II&lt;br /&gt;the same question. The Queen walked over to a toilet, pulled the lever&lt;br /&gt;and flushed it without saying a word. The Angel immediately said, 'OK,&lt;br /&gt;your Majesty, you may go into Heaven.'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dolly was outraged and asked, 'What was that all about? I showed you&lt;br /&gt;two of God's own perfect creations and you turned me down. She simply&lt;br /&gt;flushed a commode and she got admitted to Heaven! Would you explain that to&lt;br /&gt;me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Sorry, Dolly,' said the Angel, 'but even in Heaven, a royal flush&lt;br /&gt;beats a pair - no matter how big they are'&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5006713605489485717-3232011508500512782?l=brettpenace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brettpenace.blogspot.com/feeds/3232011508500512782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5006713605489485717&amp;postID=3232011508500512782' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5006713605489485717/posts/default/3232011508500512782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5006713605489485717/posts/default/3232011508500512782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brettpenace.blogspot.com/2008/10/hi-all.html' title='Heaven'/><author><name>Sem</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10723173658718721246</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
