With all of the problems that the Japanese automaker has suddenly bestowed upon itself, it was sure that sooner or later the residual effect would trickle down to the American middle management and the rank and file workers.

Today, those workers are looking through their desk drawers at home or at work, searching for the hiring contract that they signed for some even thirty years ago to seek an escape clause. That clause would exempt the average worker, and especially American ones from having to commit hari-kari when the company suffers catastrophic injury.

"We do understand that in Japan, that hari-kari is the honorable way out of a poor business decision," said a spokesman. "It has been practiced for centuries. But we do not know if it applies to Americans, and if it does, there aren't too many Japanese ceremonial daggers on sale here in the states."

"I wouldn't be able to just stab myself," said Mary Rumpus, a line foreman at the American assembly plant. "The American way is to shoot oneself, or jump from a tall building. I cannot think of a way to effectively kill myself."

A news reporter answered her, "How about just driving a Toyota?"

"No," Manny replied. "I meet a lot of nice girls, but as soon as I bring them home to meet my parents, my mother doesn't like them. So I keep on looking!"

"Listen," his friend suggested, "Why don't you find a girl who's just like your dear ole Mother?"

Many weeks past before Manny and his friend got together again.

"So Manny. Did you find the perfect girl yet. One that's just like your Mother?"

Manny shrugged his shoulders, "Yes I found one just like Mom. My mother loved her, they became great friends."

"Excellent!!! So,.... Are you and this girl engaged, yet?"

"I'm afraid not. My Father can't stand her!"

So I paused next to the display and said, "Do you know what these are?"

"What?" she asked.

I said, "Stool samples."

• What should you give a man who has everything? A woman to show him how to work it.
• What's the smartest thing a man can say? "My wife says..."
• What's the quickest way to a man's heart? Straight through the rib cage.
• Why can't men get mad cow disease? Because they're all pigs.
• How does a man show he's planning for the future? He buys two cases of beer instead of one.
• What makes a man think about a candlelight dinner? A power failure.

Dear Sir/madam/automated telephone answering service:

Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Bodmin police station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and try e-mailing you instead.

Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this message on to your colleagues in Bodmin, by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or Ouija board.

As I'm writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments (I think you call them youths) in St Marys Crescent, which is just off St Marys Road in Bodmin.

Six of them seem happy enough to play a game which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of a meteorite.

This causes an earth shattering CLANG! which rings throughout the entire building.

This game is now in its third week and as I am unsure how the scoring system works, I have no idea if it will end any time soon.

The remaining five miscreations are happily rummaging through several bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully dumped beside the wheelie bins.

One of them has found a saw and is setting about a discarded chair like a beaver on speed.

I fear that it's only a matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the bottle of calor gas that is lying on its side between the two bins.

If they could be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily leave them to it.

I would even go so far as to lend them the matches.

Unfortunately they are far more likely to blow up half the street with them and I've just finished decorating the kitchen.

What I suggest is this - after replying to this e-mail with worthless assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with, why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a panda car before doing a three point turn and disappearing again.

This will of course serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like.

I trust that when I take a claw hammer to the skull of one of these throwbacks you'll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head start before coming to arrest me.

I remain sir, your obedient servant

Reply...

I have read your e-mail and understand you frustration at the problems caused by youth playing in the area and the problems you have encountered in trying to contact the police.

As the Community Beat Officer for your street I would like to extend an offer of discussing the matter fully with you.

Should you wish to discuss the matter, please provide contact details (address / telephone number) and when may be suitable.

Regards

PC

Community Beat Officer

Reply Back

Dear Office ....

First of all I would like to thank you for the speedy response to my original e-mail.

16 hours and 38 minutes must be a personal record for Bodmin Police station, and rest assured that I will forward these details to Norris McWhirter for inclusion in his next book.

Secondly I was delighted to hear that our street has its own community beat officer.

May I be the first to congratulate you on your covert skills?

In the five or so years I have lived in St Marys Crescent , I have never seen you.

Do you hide up a tree or have you gone deep undercover and infiltrated the gang itself?

Are you the one with the acne and the moustache on his forehead or the one with a chin like a wash hand basin?

It's surely only a matter of time before you are head hunted by MI5.

Whilst I realize that there may be far more serious crimes taking place in Bodmin, such as smoking in a public place or being Muslim without due care and attention, is it too much to ask for a policeman to explain (using words of no more than two syllables at a time) to these aberrations that they might want to play their strange football game elsewhere.

The pitch on Fairpark Road , or the one at Priory Park are both within spitting distance as is the bottom of the Par Dock.

Should you wish to discuss these matters further you should feel free to contact me on <DATE> If after 25 minutes I have still failed to answer, I'll buy you a large one in the Cat and Fiddle Pub.

Regards

P.S. If you think that this is sarcasm, think yourself lucky that you don't work for the cleansing department, with whom I am also in contact!!