SES jokes and humor

Discussion of the SES, particularly in the UK.
Shout
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Smell the Cult

Postby Shout » Wed Mar 09, 2005 12:54 pm

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Last edited by Shout on Wed Nov 22, 2006 8:40 pm, edited 20 times in total.

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erikdr
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Waterperry fun

Postby erikdr » Wed Mar 09, 2005 5:52 pm

Okay, and another story. Not really a joke but definitely fun for people with an AIA (Art in Action :-) complex. And a good parallel with how Janneke threw of her SES trauma with a former tutor at AIA - lovely story Janneke, carry on with those!

After my SES years I got acquinted a bit with Andy Weber, an Englishman who travels the world painting Tibetan-style 'thangkas' (Buddhist art) and teaching classes about it. He lives part of the year in a caravan visiting all the centres to teach and also has some stable house.
Anyhow, painting thangkas is very much a mindfulness exercise and very much traditional, so the SES invited him to exhibit at one AIA event one summer at Waterperry. Don't know exactly which: I was talking to Andy about it around 1990 and I don't recall having seen him and the only two AIA's where I was on 'duty', 1987 and 1988, so probably around 1985-86 he must have been there.

Now on in more or less his own words.
And, as you guessed, they told him that this was 'just an art lovers festival' and was 'from the cultural department of the very open minded institution called the SES'.
Well, he was treated well during exhibiting and found the atmosphere not that bad. Even commercially it was okay. BUT, he was flabbergasted by not working with a general art institution but with something which was quite clearly some weird cult. Especially the zombie-like look of the staff and the ridiculous dress instructions for the ladies did not really remind Andy of open-minded art love but more of cultish indoctrination.
So he found his own way of protesting against this misleading invitation: he started to be naughty, deliberately pulling ties from those nice fun-hating SES gentlemen, and making sexually suggestive remarks and sometimes physical gestures against nice ladies with ridiculous long gowns.
He never got ANY response on this from the SES staff, although they started to minimise contact with him and wife at his booth.

And, surprisingly, the year after he was not invited again to Art in Action :evilbat:
With folded palms,

<Erik>

xmember
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how to sweep

Postby xmember » Sat Jul 02, 2005 2:51 am

Once as a young boy no older than 8 or 10, I was helping to sweep the grounds. My tutor who must have been watching me for a while marhced up and asked me to stop. He said:

" you are sweeping towards you!... only women should sweep like that. Men should sweep away from them selves"

WHAT !!!

His explanaition for this was that women "naturally" like to contain things, and this is expresive of the feminine.. while men should push out and explore/lead and therefore practice this in all aspects of life...

Ever since then I have felt stupid swapping technique as an adult... oops.. there i go with the feminine sweeping...

IDIOT ! (him not me)
NZ ex member 16yrs (age 1-16)

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Keir
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Postby Keir » Sun Jul 03, 2005 1:02 am

Meanwhile, in a secret room cleverly disguised as wall paper, a covert member of the SES crack PR team analyses the latest intercept from the bulletin board.

After scanning it for dangerous content he passes it to the young (and luminous with virginity) woman that he intends to deflower later. Just thinking about paying attention to the (minimal) space between those working surfaces got him going, but he was waiting for the leaders dispensation. Good job he wasn't like that Koresh chap, otherwise there would be no virgins for the rest of them.

She waited patiently in a perfect facsimile of a vedic sculpture for his futher instructions. She didn't mind that he looked at her so. She looked forward to joining her friends in the married women's group...oh and she hoped the sex would be good as well. She had deliberately mislaid a button from her blouse that morning to see if she could speed the situation up. Her tutor had recommended that one. Not for her the teaching that a woman could command a man with her eyes, she knew it was tits that did it everytime. Of course you couldn't be blatant, that would be common and turn him off. Just that right mix of glowing youth and innocence, although at 14 she was already having to use make-up dammit.

He cut short her musings when he whispered softly "Om paramatmane nama, iti" and stood up with a jerk. Immediately her training took over as she echod "iti" and turned to open the door for him, slipping in a deft and charming inquiry if she could pick out his afternoon wear. She came to on the way down the stairs to the rather quaint mural that masked the secret door to the Master's office. Had he touched her bottom or was it just her imagination? Surely such a highly respected member of the organisation wouldn't dare....but then that was why she liked him. He wasn't a stuffed shirt, infact none of the senior members were. They all semed to have a glint in their eye, that was why she like being assigned to them, that and the fancy restaurants they took them to.

She walked up to the mural inserting her fingers in the correct holes in the plaster...the door slid open to reveal the Master climbing off his secretary (who was also his wife, well, as of this morning anyway, infact as of just before she entered the room and discovered them at it). "Ah good morning Jane, I beleive you've got something there that I want!" he smiled. In one deft move he dismissed his blushing wife and straightened his clothes - as if he'd been doing it all his life. Jane curtseyed and stood with both hands proferring the intercept to the master in the manner of Tripiti offering her father's sword to Vishnu, a reference to the Mahabharata not lost on the master who uttered a soft growl of approval. He motioned her over to where he sat on the corner of the desk and grabbed her. He was interrupted by his wife re-entering the room with a tray of tea carried behind her by a 12 year old boy, focussing for all his worth on the space between the teacup and the tea, or was it the teacup and the tray, or was it on the space between the Master and his older sister Jane? The teacups wobbled. "Over there" the wife barked, indicating the part of the desk which the master was sitting on. The master looked at his fuming new wife and congratulated himself on picking one of the few with a bit of spunk left in them. Of course she wouldn't, couldn't, stare him in the eyes and yell at him, but he loved the fact that she had cleverly made him move. He looked at his wife glaring at the boy with more than a little redness, redness reserved for him no doubt, but then transferance was a way of life in these parts. He looked at the boy struggling with the weight of the tray and waiting for him to move. He took the opportunity to Pause, all he had to do was close his eyes and straighten his back and the whole room would fall still. He made it an especially long one to see if he could get the boy to drop the tray, it passed for entertainment, surely he would be weakening now, yes, there were the sounds of the cups rattling, he counted to 60 slowly until..... CRASH. "Om Paramatmane nama, ata". Timing was everything.
Last edited by Keir on Fri Jul 08, 2005 3:24 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Keir
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Postby Keir » Fri Jul 08, 2005 3:23 am

Meanwhile, in the sweating boiler room full of the vast swathes of greying cloth that were the newly pummelled senior staff's undergarments, red faced female students cheerily set to work on the various stains that adorned them. Goodness knows what they found so stimulating about their meetings. When asked they always ducked the question, but whispered to each other and laughed as the questioner walked away.

In one corner a young, rather pale and interesting woman no more than 18 was languidly washing something red and full of elastine. She was staring at the steamed up window infront of her, or rather beyond it, lost in thought, idly running an antique scrubbing brush over the master's Calvins.

They stood out from the rest of the washing like a ferrari at a mini cooper rally, and that was the way he liked it. Infact to be honest they were picked out for him by his adoring (and forgiving) young wife who was trying very hard to hold on to the concept that she had married a 'catch'.

Young love had seemed so pure, he had seemed so attentive, so masterfull, so utterly devoted to his task of wooing her. And now he had had her, his attention had drifted to younger, more naive sorts. She had seen the way they handled his 'slimming briefs' before she insisted that it was a wife's pleasure to wash her husbands crackers, and she alone would like the pleasure of serving him in that small way. Of course now that she was his wife she had little else to occupy her days. Being 'on-call' she had been provided a note of his suspiciously full schedule to enable her to better predict when he would need her.

With all the time on her hands it had started to make her question her place there. Almost everyone seemed busy apart from her.

She had had a superb lie in that morning, only interrupted by some young minions with a cheeky look asking her if she wanted some tea. They were sweet and she did enjoy the look on their faces as they watched her stretch and sit up in bed, satin nightie JUST respectable, a delicacy just beyond their reach. The blush was sheer genius and she had fancied that there might be some extra washing to do for one of the lackeys the next day. She had sipped the tea thoughtfully after they had gone, staring out of the large window at the spreading trees and manicured lawns, there were a lot of benefits to being married and she oughtnt be toying with the young lads. But then being desired was somehow more important to her now that he had become so distant. His dry quips about her wobbly chitta - she knew what he really meant - didn't sound so affectionate these days, infact they had become harsh and repettative, severe almost (but not in that nice way that preceeded the 'naughty' game).

She came to with a tremendous blush, and hurriedly wrung out the Calvins with slightly more vigour than was strictly necessary. She pegged them up on the washing line, hiding them behind a particularly large and unnattractive pair of Y-fronts, and headed out into the gardens. Neatly gliding past one of the many work parties gathering in poor-persons dress ouside the laundry, she headed down to the 'theatre' site. She rationalised her decision to go there to herself by thinking how exciting it would be to have a stage on the site. She had always fancied herself as an actress but had not had enough ambition. But something else drove her with a strange insistence.

As she rounded the corner that led out of the walled garden and towards the site, she could see the shirtless young men indulging in a mud fight. The raucous shouts and muscled and muddy bodies had a strange effect on her, she went to turn back to the house but something stopped her. She moved to some shade quickly and resolved to enjoy the scene, feeling not unlike some 19th century novellist's heroine stealing a glimpse of the naked D'Arcy. She blushed at the thought. Guilt made her blush again and she lowered her eyes, seeking stillness and direction in the peace of reflection. She raised her eyes again, trying to see the Absolute in the rippling muddy flesh and swearwords. Just then they stopped, applying themselves somewhat overzealously to the digging that they were there for, and she marvelled at the power of her stilled mind. Feeling dangerously close to enlightenment she saw the distant shape of her husband come into view. He looked puny next to them, and somehow less vibrant, but as usual he restored 'order'. With a few inaudible words he hmade the men put their tops back on. She sighed.

Anxious not to have to explain her presence there to him, she turned swiftly on her heel and headed back up to the house at a swift glide. She felt strangely sad as she went, and decided to divert to the river instead; more in tune with her melancholy, she thought. There was a part of her that felt sad at her husband's interference, or was it that she had fooled herself again. She could almost hear her husbands voice in her head like something out of a forties film, 'now now dear, you know you've got a wobbly chitta'.. 'just let it drop away like the ignorance it is and let the happy absolute shine through, eh.' But lately it hadn't worked. She sulkily kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the grass. Lying back staring at the summer sky she gave up thinking and closed her eyes.

A solitary tear rolled sideways down her face and lodged in her ear. She brushed it away slowly and in the shade of her raised arm she saw that she was being watched. He was just a silhouette but she could feel his warmth somehow. She shaded her eyes and propped herself up on her elbow and was amazed to find that he was dressed as a Bacchanalian fawn. He had a ruddy complexion and what looked like two small horns stood proud of the top of his head. She felt herself drawn up to her feet and as she realised that he was leading her to a wooded grove, she noted that what looked like wooly trousers were infact his furry legs. Her heartbeat was overwhelming. She felt drawn to him, electrified by his presence and yet...those are real horns...not human...was she losing it? She felt hot, very hot, and somehow she needed to be free of her clothes. It was all so dangerous, so forbidden and exciting, she couldn't help herself. She fell in to a half-faint, he caught her effortlessly and laid her gently on the ground, she felt herself surrendering, the somewhat gutteral command 'Do me' the last thing to pass her lips before she lost the will to control...

...Erik had never met one like this before. Sure they seemed grateful to be led in to the bushes by him, and usually he found them easy to persuade, they didnt seem to mind his accent much either - if anything it seemd to turn them on even more, but this one was a basket case. He looked down at her long dress riding up as she writhed on the ground and ripped at her blouse, and something inside him knew that it would be wrong. He had only been looking for a bit of fun but right there he had an overwhelming sense of enlightenment. He took one last compassionate look at her and headed back to the place where his normal clothes were, changed out of his costume and headed back to the car park without a hindward look.

As he turned the key and the engine sparked to life, he shook his head at himself. He was glad, really, that he'd met her and that she had been such a nut. He had in that moment been faced with his own unhappiness. The unhappiness that led him to leave the council flat in Oxford and seek magical trysts in the woods of Waterperry. The innability to have 'normal' relations with women meaning he had to dress up in costume before he felt brave enough to approach one. Still, he understood himself better now. The costume would go back first thing tomorrow, and the day after that he would sell his collection of Shakespeare videos, and unwanted seedlings from the horticultural centre. A new start, thats what he needed. He thought back to that desperate, deluded, deeply unhappy woman, such pain and yet so beautiful. That was it, that would be his new diection, his new career. Social Care in the community, Mental Health division, and he knew exactly where to offer his help as a volunteer.....

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non-conformist
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SES jokes

Postby non-conformist » Tue Nov 08, 2005 8:59 pm

a different guest wrote:"How many SES members does it take to change a light bulb?"


ADG,

I think the answer to this one, if I remember correctly, is something along the lines of it only takes one man to change the actual lightbulb but at least 4 women to turn the chair for him, make his cup of tea, shine his shoes, offer themselves in a loveless marriage in which he rules (of course) and finally surrender themselves to the knowledge that they may never acheive self realisation becasue they are, in fact, merely female and therefore lower life forms placed on this earth for the sole purpose of servitude.

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Free Thinker
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Re: SES jokes

Postby Free Thinker » Wed Nov 09, 2005 6:11 am

non-conformist wrote:
a different guest wrote:"How many SES members does it take to change a light bulb?"


ADG,

I think the answer to this one, if I remember correctly, is something along the lines of it only takes one man to change the actual lightbulb but at least 4 women to turn the chair for him, make his cup of tea, shine his shoes, offer themselves in a loveless marriage in which he rules (of course) and finally surrender themselves to the knowledge that they may never acheive self realisation becasue they are, in fact, merely female and therefore lower life forms placed on this earth for the sole purpose of servitude.


Boy, did you hit the nail on the head, here, n-c!

AntonR
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SES Jokes & Humour

Postby AntonR » Fri Jan 13, 2006 1:24 am

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Last edited by AntonR on Wed May 17, 2006 7:55 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Keir
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Postby Keir » Mon Apr 10, 2006 1:19 am

Mr P lifted the receiver and punched the speed dial to kook central. He hated the mess that their carrier pigeons made when they delivered messages from the leader. This one had sounded urgent. 'Must speak with you urgently re change of material'. What on earth could the young nitwit mean by that?

Still, his position did owe itself to his predecessor and the agreement was...

'codename?' came the sharp response from kook central.
Wearily Mr P drawled 'nanny'.
'Hold on please'.

He hated his codename, but even he had to admit that it was funny on so many levels that it was worth persevering with it.

'Nanny, thanks for calling. I'm considering a change of direction with the teaching, thought you oughta know. I've had a chat with a few people here and they think that 'Monty Python their lives and works' would be a more fruitful base philosophy to the teaching than advaita. More people understand it and it plays well with a sceptical public.'

Mr P lost the will to keep silent. He erupted in a scarlett rage 'Don't you dare mess around with...' he stopped suddenly, clutching at his heart knocking his cup and saucer out of the waiting ladies hands. She immediately apologised and rushed to get a fresh one and a cloth, leaving Mr P on a downward trajectory to the floor, receiver still in hand.

'Whats that Nanny?, couldn't agree more but the boffins say that they can splice the teaching onto the Python stuff without compromising the host. Clever eh? Now, nanny, about this news item...nanny?

By that time the serving lady had returned with a fresh cup of tea and a floor cloth, only to find the expired Mr P staring eerily back at her. Somewhat stumped, she fell still, seeking inspiration. Fortunately the training came to her aid and she carefully placed the redundant cup and saucer on the side table and dabbed respectfully at the deceased's tea-stained tweeds.

After a while she noticed the squawking coming from the receiver. Unsure if she should be listening to it and unsure that her boss wasn't going to miraculously revive after his apparent reverie, she again fell still and with a blinding flash of inspiration span around and pulled the phone from the wall, upsetting the fresh cup of tea over the corpse in the process.

..When the news got through to Central they did laugh, 'and I thought he was just avoiding the conversation again' quipped Mr D to his fellow kooks.

'Of course we are going to need a replacement? Anyone?'
'What about Young Johnnie?' said a voice from the back of the room...belonging to Young Johnnie.
'O.K. Johnnie, why not. get over there quick smart and find out about this bulletin thingy, oh and I suppose we should notify the police'.
'What about his poor family?' came from another corner of the room. This time the voice had evidently come from a woman in the midst of her cleaning duties.
The chorus of disapproval was so overwhelming that there was no hope that her self esteem would poke it's head out again in 20 years. She left in tears, only to be called back for the bucket and cloth she had left by the heartless Mr S.
'You might want to check his wallet for family numbers too Johnnie, just in case they dont hear it through the grapevine. Oh, and Johnnie, none of this fraternising with the enemy, eh?'
'No Sir'. Unsure if he should salute, in his excitement he preformed what could best be described as a half curtsey whilst tipping an imaginary cap. He stood up, certain that the relevant deferance had been shown and strolled loftily from the room.
As he wandered down the corridors of power he heard them erupt into laughter and cursed his luck to be out of the room when the master had cracked one of his jokes, again. Still, he had bigger things to do now...He smiled as he hummed the tune to Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, mounted his humvee and barked the order to 'Rock and Roll'

Shout
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Postby Shout » Fri Apr 28, 2006 5:16 pm

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Last edited by Shout on Wed Nov 22, 2006 7:50 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Shout
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If you know this tune sing along, alright?

Postby Shout » Fri Apr 28, 2006 5:22 pm

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Last edited by Shout on Wed Nov 22, 2006 7:49 pm, edited 13 times in total.

Alban
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Postby Alban » Fri Apr 28, 2006 7:23 pm

Very Good

:eggface:

Shout
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Glad you appreciate

Postby Shout » Fri Apr 28, 2006 8:53 pm

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Last edited by Shout on Wed Nov 22, 2006 7:48 pm, edited 3 times in total.

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Sam Hyde
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Postby Sam Hyde » Fri Apr 28, 2006 9:17 pm

Shout!, I must congratulate you on your comic expertise!!!! That was so fooookin funny! We have a magazine for the leaving 6th form in which, traditionally we ridicule the school and its funny habits either covertly or if we don?t care, then very overtly! I may well use this as inspiration if you don't mind. Whether it gets edited out only the Aatman can know.

Here's a very funny quote from last Monday?s assembly.
(on Hawkins?s new theory of age of universe)

D.B: "As a philosopher, I think I know what the PRESENT means, but what does the present mean?"

That made me laugh very much! Oh and the fact that he used the word 'Due' and 'Blitz' in the same sentence. His ability to choose inappropriate words is a wonder to us all!

(finally something we see eye-to-eye on)

ps: any reasonable ashtray suggestions?

Sam xox
thats old now, like me, only 4 weeks to go!!!!!
"I've never let my schooling interfere with my education"

Shout
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Advice for the young at heart

Postby Shout » Mon May 01, 2006 4:46 am

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Last edited by Shout on Wed Nov 22, 2006 7:46 pm, edited 1 time in total.


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