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Tuesday 28 February 2017

The Slow Cooker.....


As I perused the meat section at the Bert Scroggins Bargain Butchers Emporium, my bloodshot bulbs gazed upon the ragged specimen of scrag end, which was prominently displayed adjacent to a tray of boneless inverted porky rectums. I hadn't had any porky rectums for what seemed an eternity and had manifested intense withdrawal symptoms.  My culinary thoughts immediately turned to the slow cooker that the missus had purchased from Argos in the January sale. "That deformed slab of red gristly meat, combined with porky boneless inverted rectums sure would pong nice after roasting all day," I thought. I put them in my carrier bag and began browsing for the necessary comestibles and accessories to accompany this dish. A bag of baby carrots, some hunnionz and a few choice potatoes.


My mouth was beginning to salivate already. I had made my purchases and headed for Scropton Street and my executive hovel. Placing the plastic carrier bag on an empty beer crate, I pulled out the slow cooker and removed the crock pot. I carefully took the wrapper off the scrag end and, ever so gently, placed  the boneless inverted porky rectums into the container. After slicing the potatoes into perfectly sized chunks, into the pot they went. I added the bag of carrots, the hunnionz and my special top secret seasoning of chitterling roulade, prior to bunging the crock pot into the refrigerator to marinade until morning.


That night my dreams were of the smells radiating from freshly cooked meat and of a wonderfully garnished roast. Anticipation awakened me in the morning. I readied myself for work and removed the crock from the refrigerator. I gazed once more at the perfect form before placing it in the cooker. I set it on low. I let out a small chortle as left for work knowing that my creation would be slow cooking all day long. The end of the work day finally came and it seemed as if it took me  forever to get back home. As I stood outside my door, my hands began to tremble with the knowledge of the delectable dish that awaited me on the other side. I  burst through the door, stepped into the house but smelled nowt whatsoever. Summat was amiss. I sauntered into the scullery. "Hmmmmmm! No condensation on the lid. This can't be right" I removed the lid. It wasn't hot! I checked the controls. "The switch is on and set for low. I do not comprehend this abstract farrago! A saturnine grimace was etched into my countenance as I gazed behind the scullery midden and quickly discovered the problem. 

The slow cooker wasn't plugged in!


The missus asked me when dinner would be ready.  I shouted, "A week next Tuesday...."  as I got on the phone to Domino's....

Domino's:  "Hello, Domino's Pizza, Jason speaking, how may I help you?"
Me: "Well take a f***ing guess, Jason......"


Monday 27 February 2017

The Shrink....


Ever since I was a child, I've always had a morbid fear of thinking that there was a ‘bogey-man’ under my bed at night. So I went to see a psychiatrist to seek learned counselling on this underlying issue. I told him: “I've got severe problems. Every time I go to bed I think there's somebody under it. I'm frightened and I think I'm going bananas.” “Just put your good self in my hands for twelve months,” said the shrink. “Come talk to me three times a week and we should be able to rid you of those fears...” “How much do you charge?” “£80 plus VAT per appointment,” replied the doctor. “I'll sleep on it,” I said. Six months later, I bumped into the doctor on the High Street. “Why didn't you come to see me about those fears you were having?” he asked. “Well, at eighty quid plus VAT per visit, multiplied by three times a week, for a whole year is an awful lot of moolah! The barman at Wetherspoons cured me for nothing. I was so happy to have saved all that money, that I went and bought myself a new Land Rover Discovery!” “Is that right!” With a bit of an attitude, he replied, “And how, may I ask, did a mere bar person cure you?” “He told me to cut the legs off the bed! - Ain't anybody under there now!”


I’ve had a Eureka moment! Hey lads! Listen up! I’ve finally worked it out. The bestest way to get a woman to change her mind is to agree with her in the first place! You heard it here first folks!

When it comes to mucking up everyday sayings, I've been that, done there, got the tea bag....


"118-118? I need the number of Classix Insurance Company. I'll spell
that for you. "That's C as in cadence, A as in aye, S as in sea, E as in
eye, W as in why, A as in are and Y as in you."

"Just a minute, sir. I'll connect you with my supervisor."

Barmy Albert came home drunk as a skunk for the third night in a row. Non-Stick Nora, his
wife, dragged him to the window and pointed out to the blazing lights of the big brewery
 in the distance. "Do you see how big it is?" she thundered. "They can always make it faster than you can drink it!"   "Maybe so," he burped, "but I've got 'em working nights."

"As long as the world is turning and spinning, we're gonna be dizzy and
we're gonna make mistakes." - Mel Brooks.


Quasimodo comes home from work one night and his wife has made a delicious

"Great!" he says.

Next night he comes home from work, and it's stir-fry again.

"Just as delicious as last night," he says.

Next night, stir-fry again. "Tastes great, but I'm getting kind of sick of
stir-fry again," he says.

Next night, stir-fry again. "Listen," he says, "tomorrow make whatever you
want, as long as it's not stir-fry."

Next day he leaves work early, after asking an assistant to ring vespers for
him, so that he can catch her before she begins cooking. He walks in the
front door and there she is, taking the wok down off the rack.

"Aha!" he says. "You're going to make stir-fry again!"

"Don't be silly," she says. "I'm going to iron your shirts."


I was making every endeavour to attempt to eschew obfuscation via the utilisation of sesquipedalian terminology, however, it has since emerged that I am a perpetrator of terminological inexactitudes and this will merely compound an already unfortunate farrago. So visit my all new Jokey-Bloggington and continue the quest! Just clickety-click on You can email me too!
Now, assume a comical position and strike the pose!

Sunday 26 February 2017

The Letter....

The missus was upset when I got home. I sez, "Wassup?" She replied, "I've got a letter from the hospital and they said that not only do I have dyslexia, I also have tiny tits!" I looked at the letter and sez, "No, love. You've got tinnititus".

I called the vet and told him 'The missus is dropping by this afternoon with our old cat. Can you euthanize her without any pain?' 'Sure', he said, 'but will your cat find the way back home alone?'


Barmy Albert and Non-Stick Nora are walking past a field of heffers. Nora sez, "Look, it's a flock of cows." "Herd of cows, you bozo," replies Albert. To which Nora sez, "Of course I've heard of cows, there's a flamin’ flock of 'em over there!"


Did you ever wonder why there are no dead penguins on the ice in Antarctica? Wonder no more. It is a known fact that the penguin is a very ritualistic bird which lives an extremely ordered and complex life. The penguin is very committed to its family and will mate for life, as well as maintaining a form of compassionate contact with its offspring throughout its life. If a penguin is found dead on the ice surface, other members of the family and social circle have been known to dig holes in the ice, using their vestigial wings and beaks, until the hole is deep enough for the dead bird to be rolled into and buried. The male penguins then gather in a circle around the fresh grave and sing: "Freeze a jolly good fellow." Then they kick him in the ice hole. So, now we know. Fascinating innit!!

Whilst doing a gig at a hotel recently, there was a wedding reception taking place in another function suite. I said to the person next to me, “That’s the ugliest bride I have ever seen.” “I beg your pardon!” came the reply, “That happens to be my daughter!” I apologised and said, “I’m sorry, I had no idea you were her father.” “I’m not!” came the retort, “I’m her mother!” Oh dear. Hat and coat time already....


I went to my cat's funeral yesterday. Hopefully for the last time!


There is a bloke on my street, who has been featured in the "Guinness Book of Records" for having suffered an amazing forty-six concussions! He lives very close to my house, in fact, he is just a stone’s throw away.


My doctor thinks I might have pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. But it's hard to say at the moment...


A Hollywood filum director is screen testing Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger for a new movie about classical composers. Not having figured out exactly who to cat each role to, he asks Sly who he would like to be. Stallone says "I like Mozart. I wanna be Mozart" So the director says, "Very well, you can be Mozart" Then he turns to Arnie and says "Arnie, who would you like to play ?" And Scharzenegger sez "I'll be Bach!"


You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day. Whenever this occurs, I write this column! You can visit my Jokey~Bloggington too! Just clickety-click on: You can email me:


Saturday 18 February 2017

The Bloke on the Train.....


I was really squashed up next to a young blonde woman on the train from Manchester yesterday afternoon. She sez to me that I was 'creepily close'. Well, if there had been someone else in the carriage, I'd have asked for their opinion. But there wasn't. So I couldn't....
When we got married, we had the reception at McDonalds. It was the last ‘Happy Meal’ that I ever had. The missus has suggested that we renew our wedding vows. This came as quite a shock to me. I didn't realise there was an expiry date! Fascinating!



Thought for Thursday: Some people are real. Some people are good. Some people are fake. Then, some people are real good at being fake...


Went to the local community centre to see a faith healer last night. He was so bad, this bloke in a wheelchair got up and walked out!


During a lull between the speeches at the recent presidential swearing-in ceremony, Melania Trump leaned over to have a chinwag with the Secretary of State, Rex Tillerson. "You know, I bought Donald a parrot for Christmas. That bird is so smart, Donald has already taught him to pronounce over two hundred words!" "Wow, that's pretty impressive," said Tillerson, "but, you do realise that he just speaks the words. He doesn't really understand what they mean." "Oh, I know," replied Melania," neither does the parrot." Say what you want about Trump. But he has created jobs. The comedy writers and CNN never had it better.


I asked my dentist what she would recommend for yellow teeth. She sez, “How about a brown tie! When she said ‘Open wide’ I thought she meant my mouth. Turns out it was my wallet. £40 for a filling!


Barmy Albert arrives home completely paralytic drunk last Saturday night. He staggers through the door and is met by Non-Stick Nora, who is incandescent with rage and not a happy bunny. “Where the flamin’ hell have you been all night?" she demands. "At this new bar," he proclaims. "The Golden Tavern. Everything there is golden. It's got huge golden doors, a golden floor and even the urinal's gold!" Nora doesn't believe all this addlepated blather, and the next day searches Google, finding a pub in Manchester called The Golden Tavern. She calls up the place to verify Albert’s tale. "Is this the Golden Tavern?" she asks when the landlord answers the phone. "Yes it is," the landlord replies. "Do you have huge golden doors?” "We sure do." "Do you have golden floors?" "Most certainly do." "What about golden urinals?" There was a long pause, then Nora hears the landlord shouting, "Hey, Graham​, I think I got a lead on the dude that pissed in your saxophone last night!"

Don't let stress and anxiety kill you off! Why not let me help? By reading this column regularly you will exercise your guffaw glands and chortle your socks off by howling at all the fine jokes, superb entertainment and gracious hostility. Why not visit my website: or better still, gizzus a tweet on You can email me too! Now, get back to work!

Sunday 12 February 2017

When Your Mum Is A Horrible Cook, But You Can't Talk Yet...

A female weightlifter goes to the doctors. "I've been using so many steroids that I've grown a cock", she says. "'Anabolic?" Asks the doctor. "No, just a cock."

They phoned up from Tameside Hospital Intensive Care Unit and the doctor sez that they have the mother-in-law there. I asked the doctor how she was and he replied, "She's critical.” I sez, "Yeah, but you get used to that..."


“Mummy," asked little Nellie, "Why do you always cut the ends off of the sausages before you put them in the pan?" "Oh, that's just the way my mother always did it. You'll have to ask her." The next time her grandmother visited "Granny," asks little Nellie, "Why do you and mummy cut the ends off of the sausages before you put them in the pan?" "Oh, that's just the way my mother always did it," replied Nellie's granny. "You'll have to ask her." "Great Granny," asks Nellie the next time they visit her slightly doo-lally great grandmother at the nursing home, "Why do you and Granny and Mummy always cut the ends off the sausages before you put them in the pan?" "Oh, for Pete’s sake!" sez Great Granny, " Are they still using that fuckin’ small pan?"

Ode to Auto Correct. (Or owed two autocrat.)
Eye halve a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea.
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.
Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong oar write
It shows me strait a weigh.
As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long
And eye can put the error rite
Its rare lea ever wrong.
Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its letter perfect awl the weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.


On Valentines Day, the missus sez, "Haven't you noticed that all the excitement, the fun and even the sex has gone out of our marriage?" " Can we talk about this at half time," I replied....


Things that are difficult to say when you are bladdered:
(1) Innovative. (2) Preliminary. (3) Proliferation.


I sauntered into our local pet shop. I sez, “Can I buy a goldfish?” The bloke replied “Do you want an aquarium?” I sez, “I don’t care what star sign it is.”


I stepped back in amazement and the fella behind me stepped back further because he was amazed at how far back I'd stepped, primarily because I was exasperated with the same old boring jokes that are still being circulated around the pub and at work? I’m sure you are. But no, not me. No sirree! I like the same old boring jokes and that's why I print them right here in this gloppy humour column every available chance I get. Accept me for what I am; completely unacceptable. Click on my joke blog: or better still email me: Oh, and If your phone didn’t ring yesterday, then it was me! Start the car!