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Sunday, 9 September 2018

The Rant & Rave!

                                   

When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious diatribes about how hard things were, when they were growing up.What with walking ten miles to school every morning. Uphill and barefoot... BOTH ways. Yawn! How could it be uphill both ways?

And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no way in hell I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on my kids about how hard I had it and how easy they've got it!

But now that I'm over the ripe old age of 50, I can't help but look around and notice the youth of today.

You've got it so easy! I mean, compared to my childhood, you live in a land of milk and honey! And I hate to say it, but you young 'uns today, you don't know how good you've got it!

I mean, when I was a kid we didn't have the interweb. If we wanted to know something, we had to go to the bleedin' local library and look it up ourselves, in the index card box!

There was no email!! We had to actually write somebody a letter - with a pen!
Then you had to walk all the way across the street and put it in the post box and it would take, like, a week to get there! Stamps were 5 pence apeice!

Social Services didn't give a rats hoo-haa if our parents gave us an 'ear warmer'. As a matter of fact, the parents of all my friends also had permission to kick the shit out of us! Nowhere was safe!

There were none of them there iPods, iPhones, iTunes gubbins If you wanted to steal music, you had to schlep down to the record shop and shoplift it yourself!
Or you had to wait around all day to tape it off the radio and that Tony Blackburn would usually talk over the beginning and ruin it with one of his bobbins jokes! There were no CD players or iPods! We had tape decks in our car. We'd play our favorite tape and "eject" it when finished and the tape would unravel. Because - that's how we rolled. Geddit?

We didn't have fancy technology like call waiting! If you were on the phone and somebody else called they got an engaged tone and that was that!

And we didn't have the luxury of Caller ID either! When the phone rang, you had no idea who it was! It could be your school, your mum, your boss, your bookie, your drug dealer, a bailiff, you just didn't know!!! You had to pick it up and take your chances, dude! That's if you had a phone! WE had to use semaphore!

We didn't have any state-of-the-art Sony Playstation or X-Box 360 video games with high-resolution 3-D graphics! We had the Atari 2600! With games like 'Space Invaders' and 'Asteroids'. Your guy was a little square! You actually had to use your imagination!! And there were no multiple levels or screens, it was just one screen... forever! And you could never win. The game just kept getting harder and harder and faster and faster until you died! Just like LIFE!

You had to use a little magazine called a TV Times to find out what was on! You were screwed when it came to channel surfing! What with TWO flamin' channels! You had to get off your arse and walk over to the TV to change the channel! It was BBC or ITV. AND NO REMOTE CONTROL!!

There was no Cartoon Network either! You could only get cartoons on Saturday Morning. Do you hear what I'm saying!?! We had to wait ALL WEEK for cartoons, you SPOILT LITTLE RAT BASTARDS!!

And we didn't have microwaves, if we wanted to heat summat up we had to use the stove! Imagine that! NO DINGBOX!

That's exactly what I'm talking about! You kids today have got it too easy. You're spoiled. You little arseholes wouldn't have lasted five minutes back in 1970 or before!

End of rant!


                                       

Sunday, 26 August 2018

The Back Legs...


am not feeling myself. My back legs have gorn, having contracted the most appalling malady. I have given it the moniker of A.A.A.A.A Syndrome – Age Activated Attention Arrears Ataxia. This is how it manifests itself: I decide to mow the lawn. As I lurch towards the front door, I notice that there are letters that have been just delivered by the postie. I go through the mail before I start to cut the grass. The lawnmower is in the garage. I lay the garage keys down on the hall table, put the junk mail in the waste bin under the table, and notice it is full. So, I decide to put the letters back on the table and take out the rubbish first.


However, then I think, since I’m going to be near the garage when I take out the waste, I may as well get the lawnmower out of the garage in readiness. I take the garage keys off the table, and notice that they are actually my car keys. Seeing the car keys reminds me that it needs taxing. Moreover, the garage key is on a hook in the utility room, so I go upstairs to my study and on my desk, I find an unopened bottle of beer that I was going to drink last night. I’m going to look for my cheque book, because I need to tax my car. But first I need to push the beer bottle aside so that I don’t accidentally knock it over. I see that the beer is warm, and I decide I should put it in the refrigerator to maintain the temperature of the beer, because warm beer is horrible.

As I head toward the kitchen with the beer, a wilting potted plant on the dining room table attracts my attention – it needs to be watered. I plonk the beer down on the kitchen worktop, and I discover my reading glasses that I’ve been searching for all morning. I reckon that I’d better put them back on my desk, but first I’m going to water the arid aspidistra. I set the spectacles back down on the worktop and endevour to fill a jug with water, when I spot the TV remote control nestling by the bread crock.

My daughter Nellie must have left it in the kitchen. I realise that later on, when we go to watch the telly, we will be looking for the remote, but nobody will even consider that it’s in the kitchen, so I decide to put it back in the living room where it belongs, but first I’ll water the plant. I splash some water on the aspidistra, but most of it spills on the mahogany table. So, I set the TV remote back down on the worktop, get some paper towel and wipe up the spill. Then I head off down the front path, trying to remember what I was planning to do.

At the end of the day: the car isn’t taxed, the lawn un-mowed, there is a warm bottle of lager sitting on the dining room table, the Aspidistra’s well dead, I can’t find the TV remote, my reading specs are on the missing list. I cannot recollect what the foxtrot-uniform-charlie-kilo I've done with the car keys. I try to figure out why bugger all has got done today, I’m really baffled because I know I was busy all day long, and I’m really knackered. I realise this is a serious problem, but I must remember to put the wheelie bin out tonight, because it’s Wednesday… or is it Thursday today?



Only the really good jokes are the ones I can take credit for. But you can always visit my website. Just click on www.ComedianUK.com or better still email me: comedianuk@sky.com

                   

Thursday, 23 August 2018

Confessions of a Chauvinist....

           

Hey men! Listen up! It is most imperative for all us lads to take into account, that as our wives get older, it will be inevitable that she will become unable to maintain the same level of housekeeping as when
she was a young filly. When you notice this, do your utmost not to bellow at her. Many
females are oversensitive and there’s nothing more infuriating than an oversensitive woman. Let me relate how I handled the situation with the missus, (I call her ‘Narnia’, because she has hair like a lion, looks like a witch and is the size of a wardrobe). When I took 'early retirement' last year, it became necessary for Narnia to get a full-time job, primarily for beer tokens.

Within just a year from commencing full time employment, I noticed she was beginning to age rapidly. I usually get home from the golf course about the same time she arrives back from work. Although she is aware of how famished I am, she usually says that she must recuperate for half an hour or so, prior to starting cooking. I will never harangue her. Instead, I tell her to take her time and just wake me up when she finally gets dinner on the table.

I generally have lunch in the restaurant at the club, so eating out is not an option. I’m ready for some home- cooked nosh when I get home. In days of yore, she would stack the dishwasher as soon as we finished eating. But now, it’s not unusual for copious items of crockery and cutlery to sit festering on the kitchenette worktop for several hours after dinner. I do what I can by diplomatically reminding her several times each evening that they won’t clean themselves. I know she appreciates this, as it does seem to motivate her to get them done before she retires to bed. She starts work early (she is a Gritter over the Snake Pass). I really think my experience as an entertainer helps a lot. I consider telling people what they ought to do, in a jocular fashion; it’s one of my main talents. Now that she is akin to a trainee corpse, (she has a face like a pirate’s flag) she does seem to get knackered so much faster than she used to do, back in the day. However, I have begun to accept this.

Our washer and dryer are in the garage. Sometimes she curtly informs me that she is utterly exhausted and is physically unable to undertake yet another foray down those stone flags. I don’t blow the matter out of proportion and exacerbate this unfortunate scenario; as long as she finishes all the laundry the next evening, I’m willing to overlook it. Not only that, but unless I need something ironed to wear to the Monday Masonic Lodge meeting, Wednesday’s or Saturday’s lap-dancing club, or to Tuesday’s bowling, or Thursday's billiard match or summat similar, I will tell her to wait until the next evening to do the ironing. This gives her a little more time to perform a veritable smorgasbord of domestic tasks, that she may have inadvertently neglected, such as 'bottoming' the skirting boards, delousing the dog, getting down on her hands and knees to vigorously scrub the scullery floor tiles, or steam cleaning the oven. (thereby removing built-up grease and other disgusting charred detritus). It’s all a matter of getting her fundamental chores into better perspective.

Another symptom of ageing is perpetual whinging. For example, she will say that it is difficult for her to find time to clean and gut the fish that I caught, while I was out with the boys at the cabin over the weekend. But hey lads! We take them for better or worse, so I just smile and offer encouragement. I tell her to stretch it out over two or even three hours. That way, she won’t have to rush about too much. When she’s taking out the rubbish bins, she remonstrates they are very heavy, so I advise her to make two or three trips. I also remind her that missing lunch completely now and then wouldn’t affect her at all (if you get my drift). I genuinely like to think that tact and diplomacy is one of my stronger points.

                                     

 

           

BEER! Resistance is futile!

                        

I never drink beer on a Monday,

Cos Monday's the day fer mi health

An' the wife's got me countin' them units,

I've just got to take care o' miself

So I merely have wine wi' mi supper,

An' just the one litre OK?

Then a rather large rum in mi coffee

An' I calls that mi sensible day



I never drink wine on a Tuesday,

Cos Tuesday's mi weightwatchin' club

It's the day when I eat nowt but cabbage,

The day I don't go much fer grub

Now a diet demands plenty fluid,

Summat light an' completely fat-free

So I've chosen that strong German lager

An' I just have five pints wi' mi tea



I never drink lager on Wednesday,

Cos Wednesday's the day fer mi jog

It's tracksuit an' trainers at mid-day

Then I'm off up the road wi' the dog

First stop's at the Globe fer some Guinness,

Three swift ones'll get me to grips

Then I carry on round to The Shepherds

Fer three more an' a burger an' chips

I make sure that I'm suitably rested,

Then I sprint back to our garden wall

In a time of under twelve minutes,

An' it's four 'undred metres an' all



I never drink Guinness on Thursday,

Cos Thursday's mi day to relax

I likes to sit out in t' back garden

In mi brown zip-up cardie an slacks

After lunch I might stroll by the river,

Breeze in at the Fisherman's Drop

Where I lounge on the terrace all lordly,

Sippin' shandy, but beawt any pop

Then cos I've been good through the day like,

She'll allow me to waver a smidge

So mi evenin's spent watchin' the footy

Wi' a few packs o' Boddies from t' fridge



I never drink Boddies on Friday,

Cos Friday's mi night on the razz

An' we meet in The Firkin at seven,

Owd Nodger an' me an' Fat Baz

Oh The Firkin's a beer-drinker's heaven,

Wi' fifteen real ales from the jug

An' we start wi' the ones in the tap-room

An' we works our way round to the snug

By midnight we're all talkin' gubbins

An' we're off fer a curry up town

But there's summat not reyt about curry

Cos I never seem t' keep the stuff down

We 'ave a good laugh wi' the waiters,

An' Baz moons his bum fer a joke

Then I'm home fer a nightful o' passion,

Cos I'm known as a passionate bloke



I never do much on a Sat'day,

Cos Sat'day's mi time fer a think

Cos me an' the wife are not speakin' today,

I'm a drunken, fat pig an' I stink

So I sit near the lavvie pretendin'

That really I'm feelin' just great

But I'm goin' right off that Indian food

If it leaves me in this bloody state

It's later I make the decision,

On my forty-third trip to the bog

There's only one thing cures an upset like this

An' they call it the 'air o' the dog

I ring Nodge an' Baz on mi mobile

An' both of 'ems likewise in pain

So we're back in The Firkin at quarter-past-six

An' we do it all over again



I never say Firkin on Sunday,

Cos Sunday's mi day to repent

I'm ashamed of all o' that boozin' I've done

An' all o that money I've spent

I begs the wife fer forgiveness

An' I promise I'll alter mi ways

An' she gives me a kiss an' a cuddle,

Like she did in our newly-wed days

We watch Songs of Praise on the telly,

Then a nice pot o' tea an' some cakes

An' I swear now I've climbed up the ladders,

I'll never slide down any snakes

But it's borin' on telly on Sunday,

An' I can't say I'm ever impressed

So I 'ave a walk out round the village

An' stop off at the Collier's Rest

Now the beer's a bit crap in The Collier's

So I leave an' pop round to The Swan

Where I flatten a shed-load o' Tetley's

An' I'm bloody well back to square one!






Monday, 20 August 2018

Best Joke on Edinburgh Fringe 2018! REALLY!!

Adam Rowe's jobcentre joke crowned funniest of Edinburgh fringe

Comedians often strive to find laughter through the tears, and the winner of this year’s funniest joke of the Edinburgh fringe is no exceptionAdam Rowe has taken home the accolade after riffing on the challenges of being sacked. “Working at the jobcentre has to be a tense job,” he pointed out to his audience. “Knowing that if you get fired


From my syndicated column in January 2014!



                            From This Blog in August 2013!



Well, I never!




Monday, 30 July 2018

Thr Great Escape....

The Great Escape Untouched for almost seven decades, the tunnel used in the Great Escape has finally been unearthed.    The 111-yard passage nicknamed 'Harry' by Allied prisoners was sealed by the Germans after the audacious break-out from the POW camp Stalag Luft III in western Poland.
Despite huge interest in the subject, encouraged by the film starring Steve McQueen, the tunnel remained undisturbed over the decades because it was behind the Iron Curtain and the Soviet authorities had no interest in its significance.

                                    
      


But at last British archaeologists have excavated it, and discovered its remarkable secrets.

Many of the bed boards which had been joined together to stop it collapsing were still in position.
And the ventilation shaft, ingeniously crafted from used powdered milk containers known as Klim Tins, remained in working order.
Scattered throughout the tunnel, which is 30ft below ground, were bits of old metal buckets, hammers and crowbars which were used to hollow out the route.
A total of 600 prisoners worked on three tunnels at the same time. They were nicknamed Tom, Dick and Harry and were just 2 ft square for most of their length.
It was on the night of March 24 and 25, 1944, that 76 Allied airmen escaped through Harry.
Barely a third of the 200 prisoners - many in fake German uniforms and civilian outfits and carrying false identity papers - who were meant to slip away managed to leave before the alarm was raised when escapee number 77 was spotted.

Tunnel vision: A tunnel reconstruction showing the trolley system.








                                 




Only three made it back to Britain. Another 50 were executed by firing squad on the orders of Adolf Hitler, who was furious after learning of the breach of security.
In all, 90 boards from bunk beds, 62 tables, 34 chairs and 76 benches, as well as thousands of items including knives, spoons, forks, towels and blankets, were squirrelled away by the Allied prisoners to aid the escape plan under the noses of their captors.
Although the Hollywood movie suggested otherwise, NO Americans were involved in the operation.


Most were British, and the others were from Canada , (all the tunnellers were Canadian personnel with backgrounds in mining) Poland, New Zealand, Australia and South Africa.


The site of the tunnel, recently excavated by British archaeologists
The latest dig, over three weeks in August, located the entrance to Harry, which was originally concealed under a stove in Hut 104.
The team also found another tunnel, called George, whose exact position had not been charted. It was never used as the 2,000 prisoners were forced to march to other camps as the Red Army approached in January 1945.


Watching the excavation was Gordie King, 91, an RAF radio operator, who was 140th in line to use Harry and therefore missed out.


'This brings back such bitter-sweet memories,' he said as he wiped away tears. 'I'm amazed by what they've found.'




                    

Bitter-sweet memories: Gordie King, 91, made an emotional return to Stalag Luft III.





Thank a teacher if you are reading this.   Thank a veteran if you are reading it in English.







Sunday, 22 July 2018

Further & Better Particulars....


                       

Dear Sir:

"I am writing in response to your request for
additional information in Block 3 of the accident
report form. I put "poor planning" as the cause of my
accident. You asked for a fuller explanation and I
trust the following details will be sufficient.

I am a bricklayer by trade. On the day of the accident,
I was working alone on the roof of a new six story
building. When I completed my work, found that I had
some bricks left over which, when weighed later were
found to be slightly in excess of 500 lbs. Rather than
carry the bricks down by hand, I decided to lower them
in a barrel by using a pulley,which was attached to
the side of the building on the sixth floor. Securing
the rope at ground level, I went up to the roof, swung
the barrel out and loaded the bricks into it. Then I
went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to
ensure a slow descent of the bricks.

You will note in Block 11 of the accident report form
that I weigh 135 lbs. Due to my surprise at being
jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence
of mind and forgot to let go of the rope. Needless to
say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of the
building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met
the barrel which was now proceeding downward at an
equal, impressive speed. This explained the fractured
skull, minor abrasions and the broken collar bone, as
listed in section 3 of the accident report form.
Slowed only slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not
stopping until the fingers of my right hand were two
knuckles deep into the pulley. Fortunately by this
time I had regained my presence of mind and was able
to hold tightly to the rope, in spite of beginning to
experience a great deal of pain.

At approximately the same time, however, the barrel of
bricks hit the ground and the bottom fell out of the
barrel. Now devoid of the weight of the bricks, that
barrel weighed approximately 50 lbs. I refer you again
to my weight. As you can imagine, I began a rapid
descent, down the side of the building. In the vicinity
of the third floor, I met the barrel coming up. This
accounts for the two fractured ankles, broken tooth
and several lacerations of my legs and lower body.

Here my luck began to change slightly. The encounter
with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my
injuries when I fell into the pile of bricks and
fortunately only three vertebrae were cracked. I am
sorry to report, however, as I lay there on the pile of
bricks, in pain, unable to move, I again lost my
composure and presence of mind and let go of the rope
and I lay there watching the empty barrel begin its
journey back down onto me. This explains the two
broken legs.

I hope this answers your inquiry."

Yours Sincerely,

Warwick Hunt.