|Ask a Bong about life in general, and he would break into a sentimental rhapsody...|
In nineteen sebenty phibe, howen I owaas seben eaars old, I owaas chased by a beeg stray dog, and I litarally ran across da Howrah Breej in fipteen sekends. I think I ran phastaar than Carl Leewis! Had tha gobharment chosen me phor 100 mitaar race in Olimpic, I would hab brought a Gold Medel phor Bharot!
Ask a Bong if he smokes or drinks...
Smoking? Only waan packet paar day. Uills Classic. Modira? O... I am bhery selectib about drinks. I prephaar only Old Monk Raam or Tich-arse Choice huiski. Naathing else. No beer teer or bhodka phodka. And waan peg only bephore dinnar. Aare Robithakur himselp wrote about huiski.
Deshe onnojoler holo ghor onoton.... Dhoro huiski soda aar moorgi moton! Hahahaha.
You know... littil bit of drinking is actuaali good for haart! And shaala my wife daas not allau me to drink more. Bheri alaart..... hahahahaha!!!
Enquire about his passions...
Phutball. I laabh phutball. Mohon Bagan. I jaast laabh their green and howite outphit! Howen I waas in college, I played phor their B team. And then shaala I got married...that ruined my dreem of playing phor Mohon Bagan. And cricket?...Cricket is jaast hopeless. No team ephort! Ebhrybody wants to do adbhartisement!!!
And on fidelity...
It is bhery important to be phaithphul in marriage. We hab so meny phimale colleagues. Iit is so easy to be dibharted! Baat, you maast show discipline eour selph. So, my rule of thaamb is - abhoid eye contact. All contacts begin uith eye contact. So, when you are talking to a phimale colleague, don't ebhaar look into the eyes... look elsewhare... I mean look aaway.
And finally, whom does he actually admire...
Mai-kell Jaksaan (aha-bechaara), Ronaaldino, Maradona, Ko-peel Deb, Maadhuri, Omitabb, Shourob, Shochin, Mollika Sheraoaat (uff), Mondira Bedi, Bhibh Richaard, Shakira (ufff...mairee!), Aambani, Bipasha, and meny more... shob shalaar naam ki mone thakey!
|An Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman were trying to get in to see the Olympics without tickets. So they got to the stadium during one of the main events and discussed how they would be able to attend without paying.|
The Englishman walked around the stadium and saw a pole lying on the ground and picked it up. He walked to the entrance and said, "Peter. England. Pole throwing."
The guards let him in without hesitation.
While walking, the Scotsman sees a manhole. He picks up the cover, carries it under his arm to the entrance and says, "McGregor. Scotland. Discus throwing."
The guards let him in also.
The Irishman is very frantic, since both his friends are now inside. He walks around the stadium and finds a roll of barbed wire. He picks it up, walks to the entrance and says, "Murphy... Ireland... Fencing."
|Lady Crofton-Smythe was giving an upper-crust party, and had hired Lena, a girl recently come to London from County Cork, as a maid.|
As Lena was setting up the tea service, Lady C-S told her to be certain that there were sugar tongs available. Lena had never heard of sugar tongs, and asked the Lady what they were and why they were used.
Lady C-S, always happy to Enlighten the Unenlightened, told Lena that the problem lay with the gentlemen, who would go to the loo, and to do what they needed to do, had to touch things which were less than acceptably sanitary. Yes, even the Nobility was subject to this masculine frailty.
"Sure, Ma'am, 'twas nothing like this Oi ever saw in Ireland," Lena said, impressed.
"Well, the Irish will learn manners someday, Lena," said the Lady, with an instinctive lifting of her nose.
After the guests had begun arriving that evening, Lady C-S was dismayed and infuriated not to see any sugar tongs on the tea service. Lena, trembling, came quickly in answer to the Lady's angry shout.
"But... but, m'Lady, sure, an' Oi put the tongs out just as you told me to."
Her furious employer pointed to the tea table, devoid of tongs. "Then where are they, young woman?"
"Why, they're in the loo, of course."
|Two Irishmen, adrift in a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean, spied a lamp floating nearby. They retrieved it, and, hoping against hope, rubbed it. Sure enough, a genie appeared.|
"I will grant you one wish," said the genie.
"One? What about three?"
"One or none; take it or leave it!"
Without thinking, Pat blurted out, "Turn the ocean into Guinness!"
The genie clapped his hands as he disappeared and the entire sea turned into Guinness. As the beer lapped gently against the hull, Mike looked disgusted.
"Dammit, Pat... Ya shoulda thought ahead. Now we're going to have to pee in the damned boat!"