Darwin Awards recognise the cleansing power of pure stupidity.
Every year since 1985, a group of computer nerds have been conducting the Darwin Awards, given to people who “contribute the most to the evolution of humanity by removing their genes from the gene pool”.
In other words, the Darwins recognise people who have contributed in brainless ways to their own demise, or near demise. Followers of the awards can vote online.
This year’s leader at the time of writing was a German chap who tried to drown a woman by pushing her into a river and then jumping in after her. The problem was that she could swim and he couldn’t. She broke free and swam to the bank; he drowned.
Last year, one of the finalists was a man who swallowed nitro-glycerine pills then started running into walls in an attempt to explode himself. He lived.
The 2008 winner was a 46-year-old holiday-maker at a ski resort in Italy who stole the protective padding from a metal barrier, used it as a sled, and crashed straight into the barrier that the padding had been protecting, killing himself.
In 2001, a man named Marco was driving a van, loaded with friends, down a hill in South Idaho. The van’s brakes failed, so Marco flung himself out the driver’s door without telling his passengers or informing them that the van was about to go over a cliff.
It didn’t happen. The van was halted, but Marco struck a rock and died.
Then there was an intrepid Spanish kite-surfer who decided to venture out in near cyclonic winds and huge surf.
The winds caught his kite and, after bouncing off several buildings, he was found deceased about one kilometre inland.
A 22-year-old bungee jumper in Virginia decided to make his own bungee rope so that he could jump off a 25-metre bridge. After completing his calculations, he tied three ropes together and they measured 25m exactly. He neglected to factor in that bungee ropes stretch.
Finally, one of our favouriteDarwinsfrom several years ago was the golfer who was playing with his mates when he spotted the ball-cleaning machine. Deciding it would make a hilarious selfie, he dropped his pants and … you know what. Unfortunately, he slipped, toppling backwards, while his testicles remained stuck in the machine.
He didn’t die, but his injuries were extensive.
Who among you had some steamy sessions at a drive-in? Thought so.
Ted used to work at the Burwood drive-in in suburban Melbourne – gone years ago, of course – and recalls a chap from the 1960s who got into a bit of strife.
He was getting a bit too friendly with a young girl who obviously was unimpressed by his advances. When he removed his pants, she grabbed them, and his car keys, and took off.
Thirty minutes after the film ended, the lad was found still sitting in his car, too embarrassed to move. Ted can’t recall how he got home.
A good club president always knows how to generate some funds. Like the chap in a small country town north of Perth who was president of the local bowls club.
Ten young golfers dropped into his club one hot afternoon following 18 holes at the local goat-track.
The barmaid was so busy that she rang the president and asked if he could come and help pour beers.
He promptly turned up with six frozen chickens and declared the raffle was open.
“But we’re the only blokes here,” said one of the golfers. “We could buy one ticket and we’d still win.”
“Yes,” said the president, “but the keg is nearly empty and I’ve got the key to the cellar.”
The boys bought dozens of tickets and won the frozen chickens, which they forgot to take home.
Mick McInerney is called ‘Three Blokes’.
Think about. You’ll get it.
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