The Edmondson Blog

Outside Bristol Zoo there is a car park for 150 cars and 8 coaches. For 25 years, its parking fees were managed by a very pleasant attendant. The fees were £1 for cars and £5 for busses.

Then, one day, after 25 solid years of never missing a day of work, the attendant just didn't show up; so the Zoo management rang Bristol City Council and asked them to send them another parking attendant.

The Council did some research and replied that the car park was not their's but was actually owned by the Zoo. The Zoo advised the Council that the attendant was a Council employee. The Council responded that the attendant had never been on the Council payroll.

Meanwhile, sitting in his villa somewhere on the coast of Spain (or some such scenario), is a man who's apparently had a ticket machine installed completely on his own; and then had simply begun to show up every day, to collect and keep the parking fees, estimated at about £400 per day - for 25 years.

Assuming 7 days a week, this amounts to just over £3,500,000!

And no one even knows his name.

Why do we press harder on a remote control when we know the batteries are getting flat?

Why does someone believe you when you say there are four billion stars, but check when you say the paint is wet?

Why doesn't Tarzan have a beard?

Why does Superman stop bullets with his chest, but ducks when you throw a revolver at him?

Why do Kamikaze pilots wear helmets?

Whose idea was it to put an S in the word lisp?

If people evolved from apes, why are there still apes?

Why is it that no matter what colour bubble bath you use the bubbles are always white?

Is there ever a day that mattresses are not on sale?

Why do people constantly return to the refrigerator with hopes that something new to eat will have materialized?

Why do people keep running over a string a dozen times with their vacuum cleaner, then reach down, pick it up, examine it, then put it down to give the vacuum one more chance?

How do those dead flies get into those enclosed light fittings?

Why is it that whenever you attempt to catch something that's falling off the table you always manage to knock something else over?

In winter why do we try to keep the house as warm as it was in summer when we complained about how hot it was?

How come you never hear father-in-law jokes?

Do you ever wonder why you visit this blog in the first place?

So I was in Tesco's and I saw this man and woman wrapped in a barcode. I said, "Are you two an item?".

So a lorry-load of tortoises crashed into a train-load of terrapins, I thought "That's a turtle disaster".

Four fonts walk into a bar. The barman says "Oi - get out! We don't want your type in here".

A jump-lead walks into a bar. The barman says "I'll serve you, but don't start anything".

A priest, a rabbi and a vicar walk into a bar. The barman says, "Is this some kind of joke?"

A dyslexic man walks into a bra...

A seal walks into a club...

A man walks into a bar with a roll of tarmac under his arm and says: "Pint please, and one for the road."

A three-legged dog walks into a saloon in the Old West. He slides up to the bar and announces: "I'm looking for the man who shot my paw."

A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office and asked them to disperse. "But why?" they asked, as they moved off. "Because," he said, "I can't stand chess nuts boasting in an open foyer."

There was a man who entered a local paper's pun contest. He sent in ten different puns, in the hope that at least one of the puns would win. Unfortunately, no pun in ten did.

A woman has twins, and gives them up for adoption. One of them goes to a family in Egypt and is named "Amal." The other goes to a family in Spain, they name him "Juan". Years later, Juan sends a picture of himself to his mum. Upon receiving the picture, she tells her husband that she wished she also had a picture of Amal. Her husband responds,"But they are twins. If you've seen Juan, you've seen Amal."

SIR - Simon Heffer calls Gordon Brown "a megalomaniacal sociopath with the charm of a septic tank and the communication skills of a stoat". Why doesn't he say what he really feels?

Siena's great cathedral was begun in the 12th century in the Romanesque style but was transformed in the 13th century into one of the finest examples of Italian Gothic. The walls and columns of the church's interior are covered with black and white marble, and its marble floors have decorative inlays by Domenico Beccafumi.

About this time a huge extension was planned and work started in the year 1285. The extension was to be much bigger than the original cathedral but they have not got around to completing it.

This isn't about bad planning or a matter of running out of money and things being delayed for a month or two. This is heroic unfinishedness. This is about being unfinished down the centuries, with no apparent intention of putting it right.

As can be seen in the bottom photo, some of the external walls were completed and one of the side aisles was roofed over (and later walled in to provide a museum). The foundations for the rest of the extension are visible but that's it.

So don't ever complain again about your builder taking his time!

The extension can just be seen to the right of the view of the front of the cathedral.

A family feud has resulted in a bizarre architectural structure in a Turkish coastal town.

Brothers Ismail and Tashin Sarabis built a small wooden house to share in the 1960s and their families co-existed there happily for five decades.

When Ismail died, half the ownership of the house in Pazar was passed to his children who wanted to knock it down and replace it with a more spacious apartment block.

Hoewever, their uncle refused so they eventually agreed to divide the family home in two, splitting the house right down the middle, from the roof down to the ground.

Ismail's children constructed their new property alongside the severed half of the house, where Uncle Tashin still lives.

"When we could not agree with our uncle, we got our fair share," said Bekir Saribas, one of the sons.

The strange arrangement has become an attraction in the Black Sea region where it stands and a source of amusement to the locals.

How to use modern viral marketing ideas to promote your very industrial business. This video has had over 1,000,000 hits. Apart from being fun, it must have some sort of positive effect on SSI's business.

A family of illegal immigrants from the mountains of Azerbaijan are still hiding in amongst the load of a lorry newly arrived in the UK from the Channel Tunnel. The lorry pulls up to pay the toll at the Dartford Crossing and the family take the opportunity to quietly make their escape. They run for cover and find a little nook where mother and the smaller children can hide up while father and the eldest son set off to explore.

After following little local lanes for an hour or so they come to the edge of the large old quarry with Bluewater Shopping Centre spread out before them. They look down in wonder, totally bedazzled by something they have never seen the likes of before.

They climb down into the old quarry and make their way into the shopping centre. They are amazed by almost everything they see, but especially two shiny, silver walls that move apart and then slide back together again.

The boy asks, "What is this Father?"

The father (never having seen a lift before) replies, "My son, I have never seen such a thing as this in my life, I admit I don't know what it is."

While the boy and his father watch with amazement, a fat, grey old lady in a wheelchair moves up to the moving walls and presses a button. The walls open and the lady rolls between them into a small room. The walls close and the boy and his father watch as the small circular numbers above the wall light up sequentially.

They watch until it reaches the last number and then the numbers begin to light in the reverse order. Finally the walls open up again and a gorgeous 24-year-old blonde steps out.

The father said quietly to his son, "Be quick. Go and get your mother."

Back in the 1950s, old lifts were removed from Notting Hill Underground Station and replaced by modern escalators. Recent work at the station revealed these posters in the old lift passageway.

A treasure of original posters was found in this corridor.

Judy Rudd is an amateur genealogy researcher in southern Queensland in Oz and was doing some personal work on her own family tree. Although she did not know him, she knew she was a distant cousin of the then Australian Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd. During her research she discovered that their common great-great uncle, Remus Rudd, had been hanged for horse stealing and train robbery in Melbourne in 1889.

The only known photograph of Remus shows him standing on the gallows at the Melbourne Gaol. On the back of the picture Judy obtained during her research is this inscription: "Remus Rudd horse thief, sent to Melbourne Gaol 1885, escaped 1887, robbed the Melbourne-Geelong train six times. Caught by Victoria Police Force, convicted and hanged in 1889."

So Judy e-mailed Prime Minister Rudd for information about their great-great uncle. Kevin Rudd's staff sent back the following biographical sketch for her genealogy research:

Remus Rudd was famous in Victoria during the mid to late 1800s. His business empire grew to include acquisition of valuable equestrian assets and intimate dealings with the Melbourne-Geelong Railroad.

Beginning in 1883, he devoted several years of his life to government service, finally taking leave to resume his dealings with the railroad.

In 1887, he was a key player in a vital investigation run by the Victoria Police Force. In 1889, Remus passed away during an important civic function held in his honour when the platform upon which he was standing collapsed.

Now, that’s how it's done, folks!

That's real POLITICAL SPIN.

by Roger McGough

Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death

When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party

Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides

Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one

Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
"what a nice way to go" death

What makes 100%?

What does it mean to give more than 100%?

Ever wonder about those people who say they are giving more than 100%? We have all been to those meetings where someone wants you to give over 100%.

How about achieving 103%?

What makes up 100% in life?

Here's a little mathematical insight that might help you answer these questions:

If:

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

is represented as:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26.

then:

H-A-R-D-W-O-R-K
8+1+18+4+23+15+18+11 = 98%

and:

K-N-O-W-L-E-D-G-E
11+14+15+23+12+5+4+7+5 = 96%

but:

A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E
1+20+20+9+20+21+4+5 = 100%

and:

B-U-L-L-S-H-I-T
2+21+12+12+19+8+9+20 = 103%

AND, look how far arse kissing will take you.

A-R-S-E-K-I-S-S-I-N-G
1+18+19+5+11+9+19+19+9+14+7 = 131%

So, one can conclude with mathematical certainty, that while hard work and knowledge will get you close, and attitude will get you there, its the bullshit and arse kissing that will put you over the top.

I met a Dutch girl with inflatable shoes last week, phoned her up to arrange a date but unfortunately she'd popped her clogs.

So I said "Do you want a game of Darts?", he said "OK then", I said "Nearest to bull starts". He said "Baa", I said "Moo", he said "You're closest".

You see I'm against hunting, in fact I'm a hunt saboteur. I go out the night before and shoot the fox.

I saw this bloke chatting up a cheetah, I thought "he's trying to pull a fast one".

So I said to this train driver "I want to go to Paris". He said "Eurostar?". I said "I've been on telly, but I'm no Dean Martin".

So I said to the Gym instructor "Can you teach me to do the splits?". He said "How flexible are you?". I said "I can't make Tuesdays".

But I'll tell you what I love doing more than anything: trying to pack myself in a small suitcase. I can hardly contain myself.

So I rang up British Telecom, I said "I want to report a nuisance caller", he said "Not you again".

He said "You remind me of a pepper-pot", I said "I'll take that as a condiment".

And I've got a friend who's fallen in love with two school bags, he's bisatchel.

Our Scoutmaster told us to write to our parents in case you saw the flood on TV and got worried. We are okay. Only one of our tents and two sleeping bags got washed away. Luckily, none of us got drowned because we were all up on the mountain looking for Adam when it happened.

Oh yes, please call Adam's mother and tell her he is okay. He can't write because of the cast. I got to ride in one of the search and rescue Jeeps.. It was great. We never would have found Adam in the dark if it hadn't been for the lightning.

Scoutmaster Ted got mad at Adam for going on a hike alone without telling anyone. Adam said he did tell him, but it was during the fire so he probably didn't hear him. Did you know that if you put gas on a fire, the gas will blow up?

The wet wood didn't burn, but one of the tents did and also some of our clothes.

Matthew is going to look weird until his hair grows back.

We will be home on Saturday if Scoutmaster Ted gets the bus fixed. It wasn't his fault about the crash. The brakes worked okay when we left. Scoutmaster Ted said that with a bus that old, you have to expect something to break down; that's probably why he can't get insurance.

We think it's a super bus. He doesn't care if we get it dirty, and if it's hot, sometimes he lets us ride on the bumpers. It gets pretty hot with 45 people in a bus made for 24. He let us take turns riding in the trailer until the policeman stopped and talked to us.

Scoutmaster Ted is a neat guy. Don't worry, he is a good driver. In fact, he is teaching Horace how to drive on the mountain roads where there aren't any cops. All we ever see up there are huge logging trucks.

This morning all of the guys were diving off the rocks and swimming out to the rapids. Scoutmaster Ted wouldn't let me because I can't swim, and Adam was afraid he would sink because of his cast (it's concrete because we didn't have any plaster), so he let us take the canoe out. It was great. You can still see some of the trees under the water from the flood.

Scoutmaster Ted isn't crabby like some scoutmasters. He didn't even get mad about the life jackets. He has to spend a lot of time working on the bus so we are trying not to cause him any trouble.

Guess what? We have all passed our first aid merit badges. When Andrew dived into the lake and cut his arm, we all got to see how a tourniquet works.

Steve and I threw up, but Scoutmaster Ted said it was probably just food poisoning from the left-over chicken. He said they got sick that way with food they ate in prison. I'm so glad he got out and became our scoutmaster. He said he sure figured out how to get things done better while he was doing his time. By the way, what is a pedal-file?

I have to go now. We are going to town to post our letters and buy some more beer and ammo. Don't worry about anything. We are fine and tonight it's my turn to sleep in the Scoutmaster's tent.

Much love,

Darren

1. The Lord is my external-internal integrative mechanism, I shall not be deprived of gratification for my viscerogenic hungers or my need-dispositions.
2. He motivates me to orient myself toward a non-social object with affective significance.
3. He positions me in a non-decisional situation.
4. He maximizes my adjustment.
5. Although I entertain masochistic and self-destructive id impulses, I will maintain contact with reality, for my superego is dominant.
6. His analysis and tranquilizers, they comfort me.
7. He assists in the resolution of my internal conflicts despite my Oedipal problem and psychopathic compulsions.
8. He promotes my group identification.
9. My personality is totally integrated.
10. Surely my prestige and status shall be enhanced as a direct function of time,
11. And I shall remain sociologically, psychologically and economically secure forever.

Standing on the deck of HMS Victory, Lord Nelson glanced up at a lookout high in the rigging and called, "Keep a keen eye out for Spanish sail, my lad. For today, I feel like a fight."

Soon, the lookout cried, "Sail ho, off the starboard bow!"

Nelson pointed his spyglass in the direction indicated, and - sure enough - there were two Spanish frigates off the starboard bow. Realizing that his ship was in for a tough fight, Lord Nelson turned to a young officer. "Ensign, fetch my red coat!"

A few minutes later, the Ensign returned with the coat. As he held it out for his Admiral to wear, he said, "Begging your pardon, My Lord, but why do you need your red coat?"

Nelson smiled grimly. "There'll be much blood spilled today, Son. And some of it might well be mine. If it should happen that I am wounded, my red coat will hide the blood. Then, our own men will take heart from seeing their commander apparently untouched, and our enemies will fear my invincibility."

The Ensign nodded, seeing at once the wisdom of the Admiral's reasoning. The battle was long and difficult, but Nelson eventually won the day.

A few days later, a lookout shouted down, "Sail ho, off the port beam!"

Nelson pointed his spyglass in the direction indicated, and found himself staring at the entire Spanish Armada. Hundreds of ships bearing down on his lone ship like angels of death.

Anticipating his Admiral's next order, the young Ensign said, "Shall I fetch your red coat, Sir?"

Nelson nodded. "Do that, Son. And while you're at it, fetch me my brown trousers!"

A few weeks ago a neighbour was in the village hairdresser’s getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded, "Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It’s crowded and dirty. You’re crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?"

"We’re flying with Alitalia," was the reply. "We got a really cheap deal on the fare!"

"Alitalia?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they’re always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?"

"We’ll be at this exclusive little place overlooking on Rome’s Tiber River called Teste."

"Don’t go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it’s going to be something special and exclusive, but it’s really a dump."

"We’re going to go to see the Vatican and maybe get to see the Pope."

"That’s rich," laughed the hairdresser, "You and a million other people trying to see him. He’ll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this stupid trip of yours. You’re going to need it."

A few weeks later, the woman went back in to the hairdressers for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.

"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "Not only were we on time in one of Alitalia’s brand new planes, but it was overbooked, and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a £5 million remodelling job, and now it’s a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologised and gave us their owner’s suite at no extra charge."

"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "That’s all well and good, but I know you didn’t get to see the Pope."

"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand. I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."

"Oh, really! What’d he say?"

"He said, 'Who the fuck did your hair?'"

French high security prisoner, Nicolas Cocaign, explained that a sexual urge drove him to kill his cellmate and “curiosity” about the taste of human flesh led him to cook and eat a lung he ripped out of the corpse. He said he flew into an “uncontrollable” rage after his victim gave him a “dirty look” after he ordered him to wash his hands after using the toilet in the tiny cell they shared with a third inmate in Rouen.

He said that after pummelling his victim, he took a pair of scissors and plunged it into his back, neck and chest a dozen times before holding a plastic bag over his head “for five minutes” to make sure he was dead. Then he decided to eat Thierry Baudry’s heart for his evening meal. “I take a razor blade and I open his chest. I plunge my hand in and I take out what I think is the heart but which in fact is a piece of lung, which I put into a Tupperware container,” he told a transfixed courtroom. “I did it out of curiosity to see what it was like to eat human flesh,” said Cocaign.

“What is terrible is that it [the lung] was good,” Cocaign explained, “It has the taste of venison. It is tender. What I did I liked doing. No one was listening to me, I took action, and then they took me seriously.”

Baudry's mutilated body was found by a guard. A postmortem revealed that two chest muscles and part of his left lung were absent.

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind, down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves, the haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach, far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free, silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands, with all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves, let me forget about today until tomorrow.

The Ryugyong Hotel is a towering, empty concrete shell that was once intended for use as a hotel in Pyongyang, North Korea. The hotel's name comes from one of the historic names for Pyongyang: Ryugyong, or "capital of willows". Its 105 stories rise to a height of 330 m (1,083 ft), and it boasts some 360,000 m² (3.9 million ft²) of floor space, making it the most prominent feature of the city's skyline and by far the largest structure in that country. If the building were ever completed it would be the world's tallest hotel, and the seventh largest building in the world. Today, however, it remains unfinished and uninhabited.

Construction on the pyramid-shaped hotel began in 1987. The reinforced concrete structure consists of three wings, the face of each wing measuring 100 m (328 ft) long and 18 m (59 ft) wide, which converge at a common point to form a pinnacle. At the top is a huge 40 m (131 ft) wide circular structure which contains eight rotating floors, topped by a further six static floors. A construction crane is perched at the top, and has assumed the role of a permanent fixture. The hotel is surrounded by a number of pavilions, gardens, and terraces.

The building's plan for a 105-story height was reportedly a Cold War response to a South Korean company's completion of the Stamford Hotel in Singapore the previous year. North Korean leadership envisioned the project as a channel for Western investors to step into the marketplace. A firm, the Ryugyong Hotel Investment and Management Co., was established to attract a hoped for 230 million dollars in foreign investment. A representative for the North Korean government promised relaxed oversight, saying, “The foreign investors can even operate casinos, nightclubs or Japanese lounges if they want to.” It was added to maps and North Korean postage stamps before it was half-finished.

The Ryugyong's 3,000 rooms and seven revolving restaurants were to open in June 1989 for the World Festival of Youth and Students, but problems with building methods and materials delayed it. Japanese newspapers estimated the cost of construction was $750 million — 2% of North Korea's GDP — and it is generally assumed construction came to a halt in 1992 due to lack of funding, acute electricity shortages, and the prevailing famine. Official pictures of Pyongyang often show the building illuminated at night, but this is due to airbrushing.

The basic structure is complete, but no windows, fixtures, or fittings have been installed, presumably due to the high cost. Experts say that the concrete used in building the hotel is of unsuitable quality and therefore unsafe; the building will never open as presently constructed. The North Korean government is trying to invite a foreign investment of $300 million to build a new structure for the hotel. In the meantime, it has removed the Ryugyong from maps and stamps and built a newer five-star hotel of more conventional design on the Taedong River.

Leicester's Lord Mayor has apologised after his trousers fell down during an educational event for schoolchildren.

Councillor Colin Hall was at Southfields Library in the city to take part in a Global Education function. When he stood to give a vote of thanks at Tuesday's event his trousers came loose and fell. Children from three local schools were present.

A councillor said: "He was not wearing a belt and the trousers came loose and fell."

A spokesman for Mr Hall said: "The Lord Mayor of Leicester, Councillor Colin Hall, attended a function at a local library yesterday where he suffered an unfortunate problem with his trousers. The Lord Mayor has offered his deepest apologies to those attending the event for any offence caused by the accident."

Mr Hall has enlisted the help of fitness guru Rosemary Conley in a bid to lose weight. He wants to lose up to three stone by next May and is walking to many civic engagements, the council confirmed.

Little Timmy was at our village school on Friday and the teacher asked all the kids what their dads did for a job.

Kids yelled fireman, chippy, plumber etc., but Tim kept his mouth shut - so the teacher asked him, "Timmy, what does your father do for a job?"

"My dad dances in a gay club and takes of his clothes for the men. If they pay enough, he will go out with a man, rent a hotel room and sleep with them."

The shocked teacher sent the other kids out to lunch and took Timmy aside to ask if that was really true.

"No" said Timmy, "He plays football for England, but I was too embarrassed to say."

Gown removed carelessly. Head, less so.

Car warranty expires. So does engine.

His penis snapped off; he’s pregnant!

With bloody hands, I say good-bye.

We kissed. She melted. Mop please!

Lie detector spectacles perfected: Civilization collapses.

The baby’s blood type? Human, mostly.

Rained, rained, rained, and never stopped.

“I couldn’t believe she’d shoot me.”

Time machine reaches future!!! Nobody there.

Tick tock tick tock tick tick.

Epitaph: He shouldn't have fed it.

Mandelson told the truth. Hell froze.

Nevertheless, he tried a third time.

Thought I was right. I wasn't.

Cryonics: Disney thawed. Mickey gnawed. Omigawd.

We crossed the border; they killed us.

H-bombs dropped; we all died.

In the beginning was the word.

Corpse parts missing. Doctor buys yacht.

Starlet sex scandal. Giant squid involved.

He read his obituary with confusion.

Dorothy: "Fuck it, I'm staying here."

In a competition to find the most appropriate definition of a contemporary term, the winner explained:

Political Correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end.

Keep this philosophy in mind the next time you either hear, or are about to repeat a rumour.

In ancient Greece, Socrates(469 - 399 BC) was widely lauded for his wisdom.

One day the great philosopher came upon an acquaintance who ran up to him excitedly and said, "Socrates, do you know what I just heard about one of your students?"

"Wait a moment," Socrates replied. "Before you tell me I'd like you to pass a little test. It's called the Triple Filter Test."

"Triple filter?"

"That's right," Socrates continued. "Before you talk to me about my student let's take a moment to filter what you're going to say. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?"

"No," the man said, "actually I just heard about it and..."

"All right," said Socrates. "So you don't really know if it's true or not. Now let's try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my student something good?"

"No, on the contrary..."

"So," Socrates continued, "you want to tell me something bad about him, even though you're not certain it's true?"

The man shrugged, a little embarrassed.

Socrates continued. "You may still pass the test though, because there is a third filter - the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my student going to be useful to me?"

"No, not really"

"Well," concluded Socrates, "if what you want to tell me is neither True nor Good nor even Useful, why tell it to me at all?"

The man was defeated and ashamed.

This is the reason Socrates was a great philosopher and held in such high esteem.

It also explains why he never found out that Plato was banging his wife.

Brevity is a virtue. Ernest Hemmingway once wrote a story in just six words ("For sale: baby shoes, never worn.") and is said to have called it his best work. Here is a collection of very short stories consisting of just six words, inspired by Ernest:

Murder weapon found, reward for owner.

She wants him. He wants pizza.

“I’m schizophrenic (and so am I).”

Two teenagers, one passenger seat. Darwinism.

For sale: lifejacket, worn to death.

Question asked. Negative reply. Ring returned.

Scientist becomes president. Politics are outlawed.

She’s his love; he’s her wallet.

Ex seeing another man. RIP denial.

He loved her. She loved herself.

“She’s stupid.” “But she’s so hot.”

Outmaneuvered, cornered and slain. Chess kills.

Fat. Switched to diet soda. Cancer.

Intentional paper cut equals hemophilia suicide.

World’s second-oldest person gets promoted.

Fetus, age: twenty. Parasite in brother.

Rover fetched. The children ran, terrorized.

Armageddon imminent. Make list. Tick most.

Cry myself a river. Add toaster.

“Cut the red wire?! I’m colorblind!!!”

Following take-off, engine fails. Automatic promotion!

Ate sweets from child-safe bottle. Dead.

1300 found dead in cemetery explosion.

Outmaneuvered, cornered and slain. Chess kills.

Experimental failure. Vegan Zombie. Earth Saved!

Beach: combed. Sun: set. Gin: tonicked.

Roommate’s girlfriend leaves, roommate farts loudly.

Corduroy-wearing ninja is perpetually unemployed.

Narcissist falls for clone. True Love.