Thought for Today

[Greynomad]

A random thought:
If you rearrange the letters of ‘postman’…
You get a really pi$$ed-off postie.

[T1 Terry]

It appear we aren't the only ones who thing the yanks are a bit strange

Haloween.jpeg

[Dot]

252763373_1773646842826526_8369963904818960882_n ford.jpg

[supersparky]

And there was me thinking Food lovers. Until I enlarged the picture

[T1 Terry]

252763373_1773646842826526_8369963904818960882_n ford.jpg

At least it wouldn't rust away like a Holden one would

[Dot]

252763373_1773646842826526_8369963904818960882_n ford.jpg

At least it wouldn't rust away like a Holden one would

But even if rusty they still win Van gizzy creamed them last night and the mighty all blacks smashed the ities

[T1 Terry]

Not sure you are up with the latest news, but they don't make Holden vehicles any more ..... I don't know why they don't label it a Chev or something that can still be bought off the showroom floor .......

[T1 Terry]

Scomo interview.jpeg

[El Gringo]

More Daewoo than Chev I reckon.

Doesn't matter anymore, Supercars lost all relevance to any actual cars you can buy many years ago.
Should be called Silhouette racing, it only looks a bit like something real.

Cheers,

[Dot]

Not my words but this had me howling so I had to share...
When I was a child in the 1950's, the bathing suit for the mature figure was-boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift, and they did a good job.
Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice: she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus that escaped from Disney's Fantasia, or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluorescent rubber band.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room.
The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material.
The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you would be protected from shark attacks. Any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place I gasped in horror, my boobs had disappeared!
Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is now meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.
The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fitted those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom and sides. I looked like a lump of Play Dough wearing undersized cling wrap.
As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, "Oh, there you are," she said, admiring the bathing suit.
I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me. I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two-piece that gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serviette ring.
Up I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.
I tried on a black number with a midriff fringe and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.
I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.
Finally, I found a suit that fit, it was a two-piece affair with a shorts-style bottom and a loose blouse-type top.
It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it.
My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.
When I got it home, I found a label that read, "Material might become transparent in water."
So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year, I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a T-shirt!
You'd better be laughing or rolling on the floor by this time.
Life isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain, with or without a stylish bathing suit.
You can't change the past, but you can ruin the present by worrying over the future. Send this to the ladies you love!! Be the kind of woman that when your feet hit the floor each morning the devil says ~~ "Oh NO, She's up!"