A space-ist!
He then corrected himself. What he meant to say, was pencils of color.
And the Dutch
They let bi-Dons be bi-Dons.
We need to keep a homie-hoe-stasis
Trevor loved tractors. And I mean, really loved tractors. Forget any obsessions or high-level interests you may have, chances are they pale in the face of Trevor’s love for tractors.
Every day Trevor would get up, in his tractor-themed bedroom in his tractor-themed house, with its tractor-themed wallpaper and tractor-themed carpets, and he would make his bed with its tractor-themed duvet and tractor-themed sheets. He would go downstairs in his tractor-themed pajamas into his tractor-themed kitchen, with its tractor-themed tiles and cupboards, and he would eat his breakfast while perusing the latest tractor-themed magazine or annual.
Trevors’s degree in Agricultural Engineering hung on his living room wall, along with a copy of his thesis, which centred around (you guessed it) tractors. The living room was decorated with all sorts of tractor-related trinkets, including die-cast models, paintings and drawings.
The hedges in Trevor’s front garden were trimmed in the shape of tractors. His lawn was vividly decorated with tractor-driving garden gnomes, and his garden furniture was constructed from various parts from vintage tractor designs.
Trevor just had one thing missing from his otherwise tractor-centric life; he had never actually owned, nor driven, a real tractor.
Not for his lack of trying, of course. Trevor had been to many tractor shows over the years, and visited many farms with friends of his, but none of the tractors he had seen had ever been quite right. Trevor was so knowledgeable about tractors that every single one he had come across had possessed some hidden trait that he wasn’t keen on. His first experience of driving a real tractor had to be perfect.
One day, Trevor was flicking through one of his favourite publications, Powertrain Quarterly, when there was a knock at the door. Trevor answered, and it was his friend and fellow tractor enthusiast, Jeff.
Trevor welcomed Jeff in, and over tea and crumpets served on tractor-themed crockery, they discussed the merits of aluminium drawbars and front-end loaders. Eventually Trevor pressed Jeff to explain the reason for his visit.
“Well” said Jeff, “As I’m sure you know the convention comes to town later”.
The convention. Trevor had been thinking of little else the past three weeks. The neighbouring town annually threw a convention for farmers, particularly farmyard machinery. There would be combine harvesters, lawnmowers, and of course, tractors.
“Yes of course” replied Trevor
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I mean, can't a guy raise a family in peace?
This Martian went to apply for a job, despite his low qualifications. The interviewer asked about college education and the Martian said he didn't have that. When asked if he ever did that line of work before, the Martian said no. So the interviewer thanked the Martian for coming, but added that he thought that the Martian was a bit too green for the job -- hence the lawsuit.
(Not original, but I don't remember where I heard similar.)
The discrimination.
I'm a total raise-ist.
We had elections earlier in our university and one of the panels comes up to us and gives us a whole speech about why we should vote for them. They even bring in a manifesto and everything expressing every single benefits we could get from voting them. They later tell us how they're not gender biased and have a female in their panel where-as the opposition doesn't. I stand up all serious and shit and tell them how their panel falls under gender discrimination. They ask me why.
This piece of paper says manifesto.
A podcast
She discriminates against other cultures.
The rest have Rexuses, Rincolns, and Ramborghinis
It discriminates!
I asked a co-worker about her thoughts on the guy we just interviewed:
Her: I think it's a go, but I've having some reservations.
Me: Why? He's not a restaurant.
she laughed, but others within earshot groaned
...getting a teacup off the top shelf in the cupboard. I complained about the lack of a stool or stepladder so I could reach those most important of cups. He handed me the cup and said "It's discrimination! Apart-height's a terrible thing"
