Finweek English Edition - - Piker -

THE SON-IN-LAW, who has em­i­grated, re­ceives an email in­form­ing him that his mother-in-law has died.

“How should we treat the mor­tal re­mains? Em­balm, bury or cre­mate?”

“All three, please.” MEN ARE LIKE… Bank ac­counts. With­out a lot of money, there’s lit­tle in­ter­est.

Blenders. Women mostly have one, but are rarely re­ally quite sure why.

Gov­ern­ment bonds. Take years to ma­ture, if ever.

Used cars. Easy to get, but if they are cheap, they will cer­tainly be un­re­li­able.

Private Eye’s weather re­port for Iraq. It will be Sunni in some ar­eas. Other re­gions will be real Shi-ite. FIVE RULES life:

for a man to have a happy





5. It’s im­por­tant to have a wo­man who helps at home, is a good cook, cleans and has a well-paid job. It’s im­por­tant to have a wo­man who can make you laugh and laughs at your jokes. It’s im­por­tant to have a wo­man you can trust and who doesn’t lie to you. It’s im­por­tant to have a wo­man who’s su­perb and who likes to be with you. It’s very, very im­por­tant that th­ese four women never meet! KAIZER CHIEFS’ MAN­AGER flies to Bagh­dad to watch a young Iraqi play foot­ball. He’s suit­ably im­pressed and ar­ranges for him to come over to South Africa. Two weeks later Kaizer Chiefs are 4-0 down with only 20 min­utes to go. The man­ager gives the young Iraqi striker the nod and he runs on to the field.

The lad is a sen­sa­tion. He scores five goals in 20 min­utes and wins the game for Kaizer Chiefs! The fans are de­lighted, the play­ers and coaches are de­lighted and the me­dia love the new star.

Af­ter the game he phones his mum to tell her about his first day in South African foot­ball. “Hello mum, guess what?” he says. “I played for 20 min­utes to­day, we were 4-0 down but I scored five and we won. Ev­ery­body loves me, the fans, the me­dia, they all love me.”

”Won­der­ful,” says his mum, “Let me tell you about my day. Your fa­ther got shot in the street and robbed, your sis­ter and I were am­bushed, gang raped and beaten and your brother has joined a gang of loot­ers, and all while you were hav­ing such a great time.”

The young lad is very up­set: “What can I say, mum, but I’m so sorry.”

”Sorry, sorry?” says his mum, “It’s your fault we moved to Jo­han­nes­burg in the first place!” ONE DAY the min­is­ter no­ticed a small boy stand­ing in the door­way of the church look­ing care­fully at a large me­mo­rial plaque against the wall. It was filled with names, and there were small flags along the sides. The seven-yearold boy looked at the me­mo­rial in awe for a long time. Even­tu­ally, the min­is­ter ap­proached, stood be­side the boy and said softly: “Good morn­ing, my boy.”

“Morn­ing, Rev­erend,” he said, his eyes still drawn to the plaque. “Rev­erend, what is this?” he fi­nally asked.

The min­is­ter replied: “Well, son, this is a me­mo­rial for all the young men who lost their lives in ser­vice.”

In si­lence and with great re­spect, the two stood look­ing at the names on the plaque.

At last, barely au­di­bly, the boy asked: “Which ser­vice, Rev­erend? The morn­ing or the evening ser­vice?”

The new Toy­ota Cowrolla

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