A SEVEN YEAR OLD QUANTUM GENIUS IS CURIOUS ABOUT AMERICA. riginal.
Hee...llo. My name is Albert Albert Albert. My parents are triple stutterers. Cos Dad always says after I bugger something up...Albert! Albert! Albert! I must be 7 cos my mum said that I was born after the 7 year itch. Mummy said that daddy rarely comes up to scratch in any year in a month of Sundays so I'm lucky to be here.
I would like to ask you good people some pertinent questions relating to where yews live. I am a quantum genius and skipped 7 grades as a result. One day however the truant officer skipped alongside me, grabbed me by the ear and said "You are a bit of a smart arse...then he bit me on mine after he went down cos I kicked him in same.
I forgot to mention by second name. Ballbiter. Ask my truant officer if yews don't believe me.
I was so brainy when I was born that they put me in charge of the rest of the babies even though I was 7 years premature.
I started my own open golf surgery business when I was one month old. Sure! I made the usual mistakes grownup docs make like teeing off the tummies of some of my heart patients. I had made a hole-in-one and I started up a 14 hole golf course in the operating theatre post golf ops. You see the people who were posting the golf balls out to me were putting the wrong addresses on them. You say "what FORE?" So did my head nurse Ms Watt on the second hole which was a sand trap.
Patients were getting cross. No sooner would they get well (every patient had their own "well wishers" complete with well) when they would pack to go home...leap out of bed not thinking (yes most were aspiring politicians) negotiate the well wishers...trip over the sand trap by the bed...and break a leg. At least they didn't have to go far for treatment.
I solved the problem by taking their beds away and installing synthetic grass. Then, when it came time to mow it people were complaining bout the emissions and noise from the first hole. Ms Watt suggested one morning we take the bloody hospital away! Disaster struck...a guy named Mr Briden rang and said he wanted to come to Australia, insisting he would not accept anything less than the President's sweet/seat.
Ms Watt wailed. You see the sweet President was still sitting on it and as she rightly pointed out to Mr Briden via a video golf cart link up you just can't push someone off a seat of power and expect them to "cop it sweet." RememberI was only in my infancy. Apparently our pollies suffer the same problem. Mr Briden was the envoy chosen to visit our PM in power.
I told Ms Watt to warn Mr Briden if he wanted to see our PM while she was in power he better come really quick. Australian voters are a fickle lot. I mean our pollies, like yours, even when they are in the poo always vow to "go out fighting." I said to nurse Watt at our 13 monthly annual meeting "if our pollies worldwide insist on going out fighting why don't they join the French Foreign Legion...bring back some sand for the sand traps as I was thinking of re-opening the traps next to the beds as patients were sick of trying to slash their way out of the synthetic grass?
I sold the hospital as it was just getting too hectic. I mean nurse Watt was three and ready for retirement although she admitted she didn't have enough Super in her car to get home...so I gave her the golf cart on the proviso that she didn't speed with my clubs in the back...which were very handy to wack the complaining patients with. Moan bloody moan. "The hospital food here tastes like shit...even the shit tastes like hospital food!" I admonished Ms Watt over that and told her to put a HOLD on the hospital food.
That's all in the fast however. Wouldn't you? I cleared overstocked bargain-basement pre-broken grass legs out at half price. The hospital was refurbished with sand traps etc and was turned into an Arabic guinea pig playground for the wealthy by the new owner. Sheik Havnew Brokenleg was the first Arabic guinea pig to do so. Honestly, it doesn't matter how many 'watch out for the sandtrap on the first hole by the bed' signs you put up.' It's like when the sign on the hospital door says "YOU CAN PUSH OR PULL, YOUR CHOICE!" When the door actually slides. That's door opening please yourself democracy...broken teeth notwithstandiing as you won't be when you headbutt the door in frustration. Don't bulldust me we've all done it!
Back to my comparison of countries. I'm a brilliant tired retired 7 year old. Firstly. I live in Australia, a country. Do you people in America live in a country too? Do yews have weekends? Not the ones my former hospital has. Do Americans drive cars? Or do you just steer with your knees, phone in hand, burger in mouth, thumbing abuse at other people and flicking piggies out the window? YOU DO! So do we! Do you have sky and water and air?...suck it up cos that's what we do. Do you people get sick of incompetence within all governments but you keep putting them back in because if you put DIPSTICKS off the street in they would only be marginally better? So do we! Do you people buy vacuum cleaners that suck? So do we!
Do you Americans get sick of bills that you can't pay so you gaffer tape them to a starving bear and get him to rush out from the basement to trick- or- treat the guy eating a fish sandwich you gave him when he arrived in his van to cut your power/utilities off? And you wack a salmon in his tool box? Neither do we cos our bears don't have tool boxes. He's just doing what he's trained to do anyway. Kill servicemen with fishy fingers. I know that you American people have a sense of fairness but did you have to tell the serviceman he can't wash his hands that are around the bear's neck as he just turned your water off? You people are just like us and I know you would wack him with a stick to avert his attention. But do you think it's fair to wack him with a stick when he's trying to fight the bear off?
Do you Americans like to go fishing? With the bear that now lives in the basement? Does the serviceman have private health care when he arrives at my former hospital, shaken not stirred, but with a vow that he'll never return to America because he just can't bear...the wild bear, and would rather break a leg falling down a sandtrap after packing his torn clothes up prior to leaving for Ayres Rock where he has a new job turning outback non-payers off and gets his newly mended leg broken again when he's attacked by a mad 'guard dog' kangaroo on grass?...or a sandtrap. Albert Ballbiter wishing yews God speed. Have to, cos the bear's got his strength back and he's already speedin' round after you in the living room. Remember the water's turned off! cheers...