the3rdrock.com

A radio sta­tion was forced to issue an apo­logy today after listen­ers com­plained of hear­ing ‘sex noises’ live on air.

Jazz FM’s pre-recorded Fun­cky Sen­sa­tion show was inter­rup­ted for around five minutes on Sat­urday night.

Stunned listen­ers took to Twit­ter to say they had heard ‘sex noises’ from an adult film being played.

Iwan Wil­li­ams tweeted: “The **** just happened on jazz fm?! Soun­ded like sex noises… This is turn­ing into an awk­ward dinner.”

JazzFM.com issued a state­ment today, say­ing: “Unfor­tu­nately we had an unau­thor­ised access to the live feed this even­ing which res­ul­ted in a highly regret­table incid­ent. Please accept our pro­found and sin­cere apo­lo­gies for any offence that may have been caused.”

Mike Vitti, sta­tion pro­gramme dir­ector, told RadioToday.co.uk: “There was unau­thor­ised activ­ity and beha­viour in the stu­dio which we take very ser­i­ously and we will be tak­ing the appro­pri­ate dis­cip­lin­ary action against the indi­vidual concerned.

“In addi­tion I will apo­lo­gise to the Jazz FM audi­ence at the begin­ning of next weeks programme.”

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Source: Mirror.co.uk

Tech’ Sup­port Chron­icles, NOV 23, 2011…

A female col­league stands the­at­ric­ally at the printer, lament­ing the absent prints she is clearly expect­ing. A vocal nudge garners lacklustre appeal amongst us men — appar­ently all tech’ gods. The printer is off­line. *click!* The printer is online. “Resend your print job.”

A female col­league stands the­at­ric­ally at the printer, lament­ing the absent prints she is clearly expect­ing. A vocal nudge garners lacklustre appeal amongst us men — appar­ently all tech’ gods. *dial the num­ber of someone who actu­ally cares…*

Wait…observe…listen… “The ‘net is off­line. Are you on 3G?” “Yes.” *no turn­ing cogs sound appar­ent* “Plug your net­work cable in.”

*silently die happy from laughing*

Ever wondered?

Surely they must do more than just fill the time lin­ing their notes up?

Here’s a clip of Amer­ican WGN news anchors Robert Jordan and Jackie Bange, long-time part­ners, spend­ing an a quick break enter­tain­ing the stu­dio and themselves.

It’s refresh­ing to see such light­hearted fun from a usu­ally very ser­i­ous workplace.

Com­mand prompts and GUI apps for dis­cov­er­ing your IP address are so yesteryear.

This is the new age. Everything is about style, pop cul­ture and judging by the estim­ated more than a third of the Internet’s con­tent, sex — or sexyness.

So how you com­bine all of this into one neat solu­tion? Easy.

No kid­ding! Now you can have a mem­ber of The Vil­lage People erot­ic­ally groan out your IP address.

I should point out that the default volume is >loud<, that this is def­in­itely not the best site to be vis­it­ing at the office with your speak­ers on full and that if you are even slightly insec­ure with your sexu­al­ity your colleague’s are going to have a right field day when they spot your reactions.

I happened to open it at lunch­time yes­ter­day and was greeted by a loud (very loud!) groan of the numeral ‘4’. It might not have been so bad had it not been pro­nounced “four…skin”!

Thanks to The Pre­sur­fer for the hearty guffaw.

It’s widely known that two years ago singer Chris Brown — then boy­friend of singer Rihanna — beat her up.

The debacle sub­sided fairly quickly with min­imal reper­cus­sions and Chris’ status has since been stead­ily rising as of late.

A tweet by him stat­ing  “No more plank­ing for me unless it’s on a sexy lady! Lol”  promp­ted comedian Andy Levy to retweet with “You spelled “punch­ing” wrong. @chrisbrown: No more plank­ing for me unless it’s on a sexy lady! Lol”.

As you might ima­gine, this caused rather severe con­sterna­tion in the Brown camp, lead­ing Chris and his cohorts to flood Andy with a bar­rage of insults and comebacks.

Andy then respon­ded — on TV — with the best unapo­logy, per­haps ever…

Source: Women24

We’ll begin with a box, and the plural is boxes,
But the plural of ox becomes oxen, not oxes.
One fowl is a goose, but two are called geese,
Yet the plural of moose should never be meese.
You  may find a lone mouse or a nest full of mice,
Yet the plural of house is houses, not hice.

If the plural of man is always called men,
Why shouldn’t the plural of pan be called pen?
If I speak of my foot and show you my feet,
And I give you a boot, would a pair be called beet?
If one is a tooth and a whole set are teeth,
Why shouldn’t the plural of booth be called beeth?

Then one may be that, and there would be those,
Yet hat in the plural would never be hose,
And the plural of cat is cats, not cose.
We speak of a brother and also of brethren,
But though we say mother, we never say methren.
Then the mas­cu­line pro­nouns are he, his and him,
But ima­gine the fem­in­ine: she, shis and shim!

Let’s face it — Eng­lish is a crazy lan­guage.  There is no egg in egg­plant nor ham in ham­burger; neither apple nor pine in pine­apple.  Eng­lish muffins weren’t inven­ted in Eng­land.  We take Eng­lish for gran­ted, but if we explore its para­doxes, we find that quick­sand can work slowly, box­ing rings are square, and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.

And why is it that writers write, but fin­gers don’t fing, gro­cers don’t groce and ham­mers don’t ham?
Doesn’t it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend?
If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

If teach­ers taught, why didn’t preach­ers praught?
If a veget­arian eats veget­ables, what does a human­it­arian eat?
Some­times I think all the folks who grew up speak­ing Eng­lish
should be com­mit­ted to an asylum for the verbally insane.

In what other lan­guage do people recite at a play and play at a recital?
We ship by truck but send cargo by ship…
We have noses that run and feet that smell.
We park in a drive­way and drive in a park­way.
And how can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same,
while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?

You have to mar­vel at the unique lun­acy of a lan­guage
in which your house can burn up as it burns down,
in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and
in which an alarm goes off by going on.

And in clos­ing, if Father is Pop, how come Mother’s not Mop?

Author Unknown